


On My Mind (Ever Since We Met)

by flowersindistress



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, how did i get to 20k+, taking liberties, this was supposed to be writing practice lol, update this is over 40k now what even, we will see where i go with this, why do i always feel like i'm about to have a heart attack when i post a chapter?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 57,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersindistress/pseuds/flowersindistress
Summary: In which Agatha and Dracula mess with one another's dreams--and realities.Agatha lives and makes it to England. So does our favorite vampire. Slightly slow-burn. I don't how how far I'll go but you will get some interesting Dragatha interactions one way or another--Promise.
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Comments: 281
Kudos: 424





	1. Awake

Agatha awoke to a bright light, causing her to squint and frown in response. She felt weak. Tired. Hungry. _Where am I?_ As she rubbed her forehead, in reaction to her huge headache, she opened her eyes again, now adjusting to the light, and took in her surroundings. She was in a room she didn’t recognize, wearing her same clothing from the ship, full of sand, and the light source was only the sun leeching in through a slightly opened curtain.

A young doctor who walked inside the room, eyeing her as if she was some sort of…breed he had never seen before.

_Have I transitioned? How did I get here?_

“You’re awake,” said the doctor, walking up to the edge of the bed. He was skinny and tall, blonde, sharp features adorning his face. “I’m Doctor Andrew Harper. Please try not to move too much. You’re still healing—”

“Where am I? How did I get here?”

“You’re in England…You were dropped off here at the clinic. You were washed ashore, practically dead. The fact that you’re alive right now, breathing, is nothing short of a miracle.”

“Breathing?”

“Consistently?”

“Uh…breathing, yes,”

“So…I haven’t transitioned yet.” She gave a big smile as she felt her own pulse in her arm and looked towards the sunlight.

She noticed the confused face of the doctor and smirked.

“Oh, it’s…a religious term,” Agatha improvised. “I’m not dead.”

“How are you feeling, Sister…?”

“Agatha. Yes, I am fine. A little bit of a headache, is all.”

A knock on the door and in walked a man, dressed nicely, wearing a clean grey suit.

“I’m not sure she’s in the right state yet, to be answering your questions--” said the Doctor, but the man ignored him.

“Sister…it is a delight to meet you,” said the man as he walked over to Agatha and eagerly shook her hand. He was tall, a bit older than Agatha, though not by much—a handsome man by any standards. The beginnings of a well-trimmed beard on his face, and his hair was a shade of black so dark that she had only ever seen it before on Count Dracula.

“I am Detective Stefan Weber.”

“Detective—” started the Doctor, but he interrupted.

“You may call me Stefan. But I come here as a journalist as well, and that is why--”

“He is an author on fiction,” stated the Doctor blandly.

Detective Stefan glanced back at the Doctor and then looked back at Agatha, who briefly wondered if Detective Stefan and herself shared a mutual acquaintance here in London.

“My work is unique, he means.”

“Of course, unique,” said the Doctor under his breath.

“But enough about me. What may I call you?” the Detective continued.

“Agatha.”

“Agatha…Sister…May I ask—Do you remember what happened? And…if I may inquire about your neck?”

“I was in a ship, I drowned, and prior to that the Devil bit me.”

There was an awkward silence in the room until Agatha released a laugh, and the Doctor and Detective joined in with an uncomfortable laughter. Agatha knew telling the truth would make them uncomfortable, but well, at least she (briefly) said it out loud.

“More religious terminology,” Agatha said, smiling, as she eyed the Doctor. “I do not quite remember what occurred,” she lied. She couldn’t take the chance that she would end up being taken to some kind of ward, and kept there, if she started talking about vampires...

“I have been investigating a terrible crime recently…At a convent in Budapest…A friend of mine is there, looking into the matter. Do you have any idea what I speak of? Were you there?”

“Yes, I was there,” she said after a moment.

“Do you remember…at the convent…the wolves…? How did you survive? None of your sisters did.”

“Wolves…Yes…We escaped by running into a hidden location at the convent, that I had previously used for my own studies…”

“We…meaning there was someone else with you…?”

Suddenly Agatha groaned, putting her hand to her head.

“I told you, Stefan,” said the Doctor, rushing over to Agatha’s side. “She needs rest. She needs--”

“I need food. And water.”

Agatha hoped it was this that she needed—not blood.


	2. Bloodlust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More conversation. And a voice in Agatha's head...

The Doctor brought her potato soup with some fruits and water before exiting the room, leaving her with the very curious Detective. Agatha was beginning to feel better with the nourishment. Still human, she thought.

“How do you feel?” asked the Detective. He hadn’t left her side. He was insistent on talking to her. Getting the story out of her.

“Better,” she said. But she worried it was not enough. No, she knew it wasn’t. Though she felt better, her mental and physical state were still in need.

“Do you need…blood?”

Casually, he took out a pouch of blood from his bag, seemingly from the hospital itself.

He knew.

“Blood…” Agatha sat up, forcing herself to sit up. She smelled it…She needed it. Nourishment.

“Clean, fresh, and disease-free.”

“You know,” she said, obviously surprised at his sudden directness and revelation.

“I think I do,” he admitted.

“Then you know it wasn’t just wolves that were there that night at the convent.”

“You said the Devil bit you—” he said, placing the pouch of blood on the table by her bedside.

“He was there that night, and he was there with me on the ship. The Demeter. He is—he’s….” She couldn’t think right. Couldn’t say the words. She felt desperate, weaker now, the food and water not being enough. She couldn’t avoid it.

“Drink, Agatha.” But it wasn’t the Detective’s voice.

“What?” she jerked up and looked around.

“I…didn’t say anything.”

A silence.

“Is everything alright?...” he leaned forward in his seat.

“Who was it? Who is the Devil?”

“Drink, Agatha,” she heard Dracula say.

Agatha reached for the cup of water and swallowed it down so quickly, the Detective could only stare wide-eyed.

No, it wasn’t enough.

“Are you alright?” asked the Detective again.

She scoffed.

“I’m not sure…I’m not mortal. But if I haven’t turned…” she paused to think.

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t I mind the sun?….Why did I feel hungry for food, water, but also…”

“Do you feel hungry for blood?”

“Yes,” she stated.

“Would you kill me for it?” he asked. The question came out casually, as if he had just been asking Agatha if she wanted more water.

“No. I am not a beast. Not yet, at least. But….”

She eyed the bag of blood, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took the pouch and drank down the blood, until finally, her strength was regained.

She knew what this meant. She was still in some sort of transition. Like Mr. Harker had been. Except…she seemed even more mortal than he had been after his encounter with Dracula, and no longer seemed to be dying.

Perhaps she could reverse this. Whatever bloodlust she had gained could maybe be taken away somehow.

If she worsened, she was determined to kill herself. Hopefully, this time she would be successful.


	3. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha 'settles down' in England and gets asked to dinner.

There was nothing left for her in Hungary, so she decided to stay at a convent here in England, and rebuild her life, continuing her studies of the supernatural while exploring this new city--the one Dracula so desperately wanted to reach. Agatha felt she has won, having made it to the land he wanted for himself. 

At the convent everyone was welcoming enough for the most part. Three of her fellow sisters even showed interest in her and her strange fascinations—and although others grew to shun her for it, she was not surprised nor upset.

Agatha regularly received visits from the Detective, who inquired every detail of her story. He was the only one she shared it entirely with so far. It was nice to have someone to talk with and listen to her.

“Sister Agatha, I appreciate you sharing all this with me. I know it can’t be easy…”

“Nothing worth telling is easy to tell,” she smiled. She found it a bit ironic how she was the one telling her story about her events with Count Dracula now. She was in the same position Mr. Harker had been in a few months ago. Detective Stefan was curious person, like herself, who believed in all the supernatural. He didn’t mock her. He was intelligent and eager, yet soft-spoken. Agatha felt comfortable around him. Perhaps if she wasn’t a nun, she might even consider getting to know him further. The last time she was interested in someone at all was at her old convent, and that person ended up slaughtered by Dracula—who, strangely enough, was Agatha’s true interest—though not in the traditional romantic sense.

Every week, Detective Stefan would bring her blood to sustain her. She apparently didn’t need very much—just a little was enough to keep her living.

“So, is this to be a story of yours, or part of an investigation?”

“Both,” stated the Detective, as he eyed Agatha curiously.

“Sister Agatha, I was wondering if perhaps next time, I could bring you some dinner? Not just…blood, I mean. Actual dinner.”

Agatha raised her eyebrows at this, and chuckled.

“Are you asking a nun to have dinner with you, Detective Stefan?”

“I was, but—I mean it wouldn’t have to be romantic—It won’t be if it makes you uncomfortable or goes against your beliefs—It does, doesn’t it…”

Agatha decided to stop letting him ramble.

“Detective,” she raised a palm up. “You may bring me dinner.”

He flashed her a big smile. She noticed his teeth, being oddly reminded of Dracula’s sharp fangs, although the Detective’s, of course, were human and harmless.

“This time next week?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Goodnight, Agatha.”

It was the first time he had addressed her only by her name. She smiled. Wondered for a moment if God would be upset that she accepted his invitation. But it was no worse than investigating vampires, she thought.


	4. Curious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back?  
> (That's it, that's the summary...)

Detective Stefan brought her an arrangement of food in a basket, and his weekly dose of blood from the hospital for her. She would save the latter for the next day.

In the same room in the convent where they had their weekly meetings for the past month and a half or so, they ate at a small table, sitting across from each other, enjoying the comfort of one another’s company.

“This is delicious!” Agatha said, as she devoured the salad and potatoes. Agatha never thought she would so enjoy vegetables as much, but she had to admit, this was the best meal she’d had in a while.

“I am a good cook, Agatha, if I do say so myself.”

“A man of many talents,” she smiled. Writing, investigating, cooking. It was a surprise he wasn’t married, to be fair. Detective Stefan blushed a bit under her gaze, before clearing his throat and taking a bite of the chicken and vegetables. After a while, he spoke again.

“So, we were concluding your story last time. Count Dracula, you said he died.”

“Yes,” she smiled for a moment, though it faltered. “He…went down…with the ship” she said uncertainly, before pausing. She remembered hearing his voice in her head, and began to wonder…

If she had survived…he might have as well. Wouldn’t he? He had been around longer than her, and obviously was skilled at surviving, mentally and physically, almost any obstacle.

But no. He would’ve found her and killed her, here in England. His intended destination after all.

“Unless?” Stefan asked, eyeing her curiously, as she seemed to stare off in deep thought.

“Unless, well, he didn’t!” she stated out loud before scoffing.

“I lived, after all…and he is…an admittedly strong beast.”

“A beast? Or a man wielding too much power?”

“A vampire is not a man. Simply a beast.”

“Agatha…May I ask what you like to do here in the convent?”

“I worship the Lord.”

“And? Have you any other interests?”

“Of course. I also investigate, like you. The dark and the supernatural.”

“That’s how you know so much about it. Aside from your personal experiences,” he realized. “You are an interesting woman, Sister Agatha.” He smiled sheepishly at her as he placed a hand on hers for a moment, before pulling it away.

The Detective was an interesting man himself, sometimes bold, often shy.

“Thank you for the meal, Detective Stefan. I must head back and get some rest now. I’m afraid I need some time to think…” she said, and he stood from the table at the same time she did. It wasn’t that he had been too bold, or she was disinterested. She was just worried about the possibility that the vampire was indeed still alive...

“Of course. Perhaps we can go over some more details next week?”

“Certainly. Thank you for the meal and the company. I wish you a good and safe night, Detective.”

“Agatha—” he said, as he stepped forward to her before she turned to make her exit. His eyes seemed light, happy, as he smiled and gazed upon her face. Suddenly he was very close, and Agatha felt the warmth of his skin, his blood even, as he leaned in, their lips almost touching. She closed her eyes and leaned in slowly as well. Agatha wasn’t going to deny him. She was—

“Curious…”

Agatha gasped a bit, in shock as she heard the familiar voice. She opened her eyes, and looked upon the Count’s face, too close for her comfort, as he seemed ready to kiss her just as the Detective had been.

“But Agatha…isn’t it a sin?” he said, his tone soft and sweet. It made her sick.

“You,” she said. Though she found it hard to step back at first, she found the power to now, finally. “You’re alive,” she stated, both angry and impressed.

“Disappointed? Or impressed?”

“Both,” she said. Agatha frowned as she looked around, not seeing Stefan any longer.

“You are stronger than Johnny was,” he smiled, flashing his sharp whites at her. “You’re different…What _are_ you, Agatha?”

Agatha ignored his statement and turned away from him, her back to the Count now, as she formulated her thoughts. She paced a bit as she looked around the candlelit room, now seemingly darker than it was moments ago, and still no Detective in sight.

“No. No, this isn’t you. You aren’t real,” she mused, ignoring his question.

“No?”

“No…You aren’t feeding on me. This can’t be your control. This is…”

“What am I then?” he asked curiously. She turned to face him again. He was wearing the same white shirt and suspenders he wore the last time she saw him on the ship.

“You are a figment of my imagination,” she laughed. “It’s finally happened--I’m going mad!”

He chuckled at that.

“Well, at least I’m not ‘just a beast,’ anymore. You wound me, Agatha. Given that night at the convent, I thought you’d recognize I’m a man as well. Maybe something more,” he said as he stepped forward.

“HA. You are a beast in a man’s body…What a waste,” she added playfully. “No—you are neither a man nor a beast. Again, you are not real. Just a figment of my imagination.”

“Am I?” he said softly. His changes in tones even in her hallucinations were strange to her. At times, though rarely, he seemed gentle, although his true nature was feral.

“Yes,” she beamed a smiled at him as she stepped toward him, no fear at all. “You are nothing but some…nightmare I am clinging to.”

Agatha laughed and decided to prove a point to herself. When she was close enough, she reached out her arm and softly nudged his chest with her hand. She froze, eyes widening, as she felt the contact. She wasn’t expecting to feel him, as real as everything else around her. Dracula half-smiled, and her eyes fixated on his sharp teeth as he grasped her wrist in his hand and pulled her towards him.

“Still think I’m not real?”

Agatha was struck speechless, not knowing what to think.

Suddenly, another familiar voice—that of Detective Stefan’s—brought her back to reality.

“Agatha…Sister Agatha! Are you alright?”

Agatha blinked and looked to her right, feeling the loss of contact as she saw Stefan. Dracula was completely lost to her now.

“Yes…What happened, Detective?”

“You stepped away from me and you just…you wouldn’t react. Couldn’t hear me or move…Are you really alright? What happened?”

She paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings once more.

“It’s Dracula. He’s in my mind somehow…I think he is alive…Unless maybe I really am just going mad…even more than I originally thought” she pondered out loud.

“Agatha…maybe it is all perfectly normal given what you’ve been through…Would you like me to stay a bit longer?”

“No, no, it is alright. I can manage.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Detective. Thank you for dinner. I promise I am alright.”

Although that night, Agatha found it difficult to sleep as her thoughts kept her wide awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy friday the 13th. thanks 4 reviews.


	5. Opiate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bite Me?

Agatha found herself in a grand, dark castle with stone corridors. She was in her nightgown, just as she had been when she went to bed that night. She must be dreaming. But it felt so real.

She walked down the stairs and when she reached the bottom, she saw him. His back was to her and he was again casually dressed, sleeves rolled up, pouring himself a drink.

“Hello Agatha.”

Dracula turned around and flashed her a small smile.

“Don’t worry. It’s not your blood,” he reassured her, raising his eyebrows before taking a sip from the glass.

“What is this place?”

“It’s my home…One of them. Do you like it?” he asked as he observed the dark stone walls he was obviously proud of.

“Oh. It’s nice, I suppose,” she shrugged. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to get some peaceful sleep. You are the last thing I want to be dreaming of right now.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Where exactly are you?”

“Come find me,” he smirked.

“I will. Which brings me to my next question. If you’re alive, why haven’t you killed me?”

Dracula sighed and placed the now empty glass on the counter behind him.

“You’re too perfect, as you are. A hybrid between human and vampire. Just how did that happen, Agatha? Have you learned anything?” he asked earnestly, though it seemed like he himself may know the answer.

“You are asking me to explain to you my condition, when you are the one who put me in it?”

Agatha almost felt she was arguing with herself, trying to figure out once and for all what was happening to her.

“I’ve never had a bride like you. You’ve been drinking blood, haven’t you? But not much…You are still human. You eat...” he chuckled and raised his eyebrows. “Grapes.”

Agatha smiled at the memory of herself and the Detective eating the grapes with the meal he brought for them last time.

“I am not your bride. But yes…I still eat, bleed--”

“I know. I can smell you.”

“How didn’t I turn, I wonder. Can you control that at all? You mustn’t have finished…”

“I fed on you for a long while, Sister Agatha.”

“But perhaps it wasn’t enough. Perhaps my will was stronger,” she said, though half-joking.

“Perhaps.” He truly pondered this for a moment, before taking a step forward. 

“Nevertheless, this is a very interesting bond we have.”

Agatha laughed.

“A bond? You control all your victims.”

“Yes, but this is different. I was able to physically access you while you were awake. Just as I am accessing your mind now, as you dream.“

He had a point.

“You’ve never experienced that?”

“No. It’s a new welcome addition to my powers.”

“A power? I say it is a weakness.”

“A weakness?”

“If you can access my mind, I can access yours. That is, if you’re real, of course. That part is still under debate.”

Agatha pondered what Stefan mentioned. Maybe it really was a side-effect of her experiences and troubled mind? Or perhaps the ‘vampire’s kiss’ had a greater effect than she ever imagined, and she was doomed to always have him around.

“Still on about that?...” he chuckled lightly. “I wonder…” he added, eyes looking at her neck now.

A shiver of fright went through her body, but she held her ground.

“If this bond of ours allows me to feed off of you here…” he continued.

“Is that all you think of? Feeding?” she scoffed. “Why do I even ask? Of course it is. Insatiable pig that you are.”

Agatha stepped forward, making the decision now to solve this mystery once and for all. After all, if Dracula was alive, she would need to prove it.

“Alright then. You may take a drink,” she said, as she tossed her long brown hair over her left shoulder and offered her neck to him. “Go on.”

Without even drawing blood she was able to get a quick reaction. Dracula bared his sharp teeth immediately and grunted lowly, hands clenching into fists. But he didn’t move, showing an incredible restraint Agatha was surprised to observe.

“I thought you wanted to feed? What is it? The real Dracula would not stop now.”

“Stop.” He hissed. “That’s not it.”

He closed his eyes and turned away from her.

“You’re perfect as you are. If I bite you again, you might fully transition.”

It was amazing to Agatha how insightful these conversations with her Dracula were. He…or better yet, her subconscious mind(?)…might have a point.

“Like Jonathan.” She added in a whisper, before assertively stating: “No. It’s an effect of what you did to me. And I need to prove this to myself.”

“…Because you know there’s a chance I might actually be here. You felt it when we touched.” He smirked, his fangs still out, seemingly ready to feast on her.

“Yes. I admit there is a chance, but what is happening here could very well be the effects of your so-called opiate still preying on me…. Let me accept that I am losing my mind, and maybe I can move on from you and these nightmares.”

“I am delighted you’re so keen on me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. If you ARE real and alive, I must know, so I can hunt you down and kill you.”

“You never disappoint, Agatha,” he chuckled.

“You can feed. I am giving you permission.” Though, she wasn’t sure why it was even needed, considering he took what he wanted.

“I don’t want to change you any further.”

But she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to stay alive to simply be an experimental, ‘perfect’ bride for the beast himself, anyway.

“What does it matter? You put me in this position in the first place. Go on. If it worries you so much, don’t feed for too long. There’s a little thing called self-control, Count, you must practice it sometime.”

Although she felt worried—she really did have to know. And she must have proof of it to show the Detective.

“I will not become fully vampire without a fight, after all” she joked. Her will, which was God given after all, was what she leaned on.

“I know you won’t,” he smiled widely. “But it’s a risk.”

“Oh, I know what it is,” she clapped her hands and smirked.

“Do tell.”

“Underneath all this beastly strength and demeanor of yours, you are a coward. Afraid of the sun, afraid of death, afraid of me. Afraid of your own lack of restraint. Well then,” she gave a lazy shrug and proceeded to head up the stairs again…back to wherever she came from. She was tempted to explore the rest of this place.

But with her words she managed to trigger the Count, real or fake as he might be. He was too predictable, even in dreams.

“Fine,” he drew out the word rather loudly.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and Agatha did so. She faced him and stayed in place as he walked towards her, carefully, precisely, as any predator would when approaching a prey.

Though the Count looked remarkably human again, she knew his fangs were ready to show at any moment. Agatha felt almost exhilarated by it. Finally closing the space between them he placed one arm around her to rest his hand on her lower back and hold her in place. With his other hand, he moved from her shoulder to the back of her neck, then his fingers moved upwards and tangled in her hair.

For a moment he looked back at her face, as if reconsidering. She felt fear and excitement all at once as she locked eyes with him.

Agatha felt him pull her head back slightly, as his fingers grasped and pulled on her locks, exposing her neck to him.

“Come get me,” he said. Then, Dracula finally bared his fangs again and flashed her a familiar smile.

In a sudden movement he leaned down and bit into her neck.

Agatha awoke sweating and breathing heavily. Instinctively, she got up and drank water first…then the whole bag of blood from one of the blood bags the Detective had gotten her. It was what she was most thirsty for.

She looked in the mirror, grateful to still see her reflection. But as she moved her hair from her shoulder, she saw the bite marks.


	6. Hungry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Agatha proves Dracula is alive...and then proceeds to ‘wind down’ in her dreams (not overly explicit, btw)

“He is alive, and I can prove it to you.”

“Agatha, are you sure--"

Agatha sighed loudly, frustrated at the Detective’s disbelief. She showed him her neck, which although seemed to be healing rather quickly, still had the deep, dark bite marks from just a few nights ago.

“How…?! What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said. “Focus. Now that we know he is alive, we must find him and put an end to this.”

“How did he find you? Did you invite him inside the convent?”

“Of course not. He is in my dreams. And daydreams, even. He is real. He made it off the Demeter, and he is here, in England. I know it. We must find out exactly where, and when we do, I will find him and put a stake through his heart.”

“Agatha, slow down, please…” he took her hands in his.

“Tell me Detective, have you noticed any crimes lately? Similar to this,” she said, showing him her bite again. “You must not keep this from me.”

“I don’t want to agitate you anymore, Agatha. This is dangerous...”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she said. His eyes were downcast.

“So, you _have_ been keeping something from me.”

“Only because I don’t want to upset you or put you in danger. You’re already in too deep with these dreams of yours. I worry about you, Agatha,” he admitted sheepishly.

“You must tell me.”

After a brief hesitation, he went ahead and told her the truth.

“There have been more deaths. Here in England and in Romania.”

“You mean…”

He nodded.

“Not one vampire. Vampires, Agatha.”

“Of course,” she said, growing louder and more frustrated by the minute, “Others he infected…spreading all over…It’s a plague!”

She had to come up with a plan. She would make use of this bond.

“I’ll try to help you. You must go. I have to think…”

“Can’t I stay a bit longer?”

“It isn’t necessary.”

“Agatha…you can’t let this happen,” he said as he gazed upon her wounded neck. “You must find a way to block him out.”

“It may be my advantage, Detective. Please go, I will be fine.”

He sighed but decided to give in to her wishes.

“Please don’t do anything rash. I will come check up on you tomorrow.”

“Just be careful, Detective.”

“I should be saying that to you…I need you to be careful...”

He reached over to her and gave her a small peck on the cheek, which seemed to calm her a bit and make her smile.

“Good night, Agatha.”

“Good night, Stefan.”

That night, Agatha went to sleep with a wooden stake in her hands, and thoughts of the Count. Perhaps if it happened again, she could manage to bring a weapon into her dreams.

Instead, she found herself dreaming of something else. Normally when she was stressed, she had dreams like these. Perhaps that’s what this was. She was in her room, and Detective Stefan was there, standing in front of her bed, watching her intently.

“Are you alright, Agatha?” he said softly, as she sat up in her bed.

The candles lit up the room with a nice warm light, and Agatha herself felt…warm.

“I came to check up on you,” he smiled.

“Oh…” she said, as she stood up from the bed and looked around the room. “Where is the Count?” she said, mostly to herself. But then, she decided this was just a regular dream when the Detective shrugged and offered her a pomegranate. She tilted her head in amusement.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“No…”

“Oh,” he shrugged as he cut open the pomegranate expertly with a knife. “Still looking for the Count?”

“Yes. Until the day he is dead.”

“What is he like?”

“Other than evil, he is interesting. Charming, intelligent, even…” she paused.

The Detective listened eagerly as he took a bite from the fruit. Agatha’s eyes were drawn to his mouth as the red liquid began dripping down his lips. Without a second thought, she leaned up to kiss him, licking his bottom lip softly as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He tossed the fruit and knife aside on the floor and picked her up and laid her on the bed. This was seemingly an ordinary dream—She felt as if she were watching the whole scene, rather than experiencing it. But regardless, she enjoyed it as Stefan moved his hands up her stomach and chest and continued kissing her.

He moved his lips to her collarbone and continued moving downwards. She looked for Dracula, and for her wooden stake, both which were nowhere to be found.

“ _Stop looking for me, and enjoy yourself for a moment, Agatha._ ” She heard the Count’s voice say, somewhere in the back of her mind.

“Shut up.”

“What?” asked the Detective.

“Not you.”

Stefan continued his actions, moving his lips down her stomach and to her legs. She sighed in anticipation as he moved towards her more sensitive parts.

She tried to focus but her thoughts were torn between blocking out thoughts of Dracula and seeking him out.

“ _I hope he knows to not rush a nun_ ,” she heard Dracula say. Agatha chuckled lightly but was cut off by her own small moans escaping her throat as she felt the warmth of the pleasure in her body begin to grow.


	7. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The connection between Agatha and Dracula deepens, and Agatha investigates it further.

Agatha had begun to sleep rather irregularly, and very often found the Count in her—or his--dreams. The past few times she had dreamt of him-- or seen him—something strange would happen. She could swear she saw visions of memories that were not her own. Images and thoughts that may or may not be real. She had told the Detective that she would investigate these ‘flashes’ a bit further.

She was in Dracula’s castle again, she realized as she stretched her body out on the comfortable bed that was obviously not her own. The sheets were silk, and the mattress felt like the most comfortable thing she had ever been on. Though she had trouble controlling these dreams, she smiled as she felt the necklace still around her neck, with the cross tucked beneath the clothing of her nightgown, same as it had been when she went to bed.

Agatha left the room and walked down the stairs to look for the vampire.

“Hello again.”

She looked behind her, and there he was, suddenly at the foot of the stairs.

“Is this my dream, or yours?”

“Ours, I suppose,” he sighed as he walked past her to the dining room table, “It’s not exactly easy to tell. I don’t dream very often. And lately, I’ve only dreamt of you.”

“That hardly makes sense.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said, as he pulled out a seat for her. Agatha made her way over and sat down, offering a small smile.

“Wine?”

“Please,” she said.

“Why do you keep wine in your home?” she asked, as he served her a glass and sat down across her.

“Ah, well, it keeps the guests happy and relaxed.”

“I see.”

“When I eat, I absorb the energy of who I feed from. Not just the knowledge, but the emotions, the state of mind…It’s all there, in the blood,” he explained.

“And so, that is why you don’t like the blood of the dead.”

“The soul dies. It is rotting nothingness.”

“Your best meals must be when they don’t see it coming.”

“…Most of the time,” he said after a pause, with a small smile.

“Never when you’re hungry.”

“Hungry?”

“You must never feel actual hunger because you always feed to your heart’s content. You indulge. You don’t know what it is to be deprived.”

“If I can indulge, why wouldn’t I?’

“Food tastes better when you haven’t eaten in a long period of time.” Agatha figured she would appeal to his selfish nature, which simply cared about pleasure.

“Ah,” he smirked. “I’m assuming you know this, for a fact?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” she said as she drank a sip of the wine.

Dracula gazed upon her throat as the swallowed down some of the drink, thoughts wandering again to her blood.

“Tell me, Agatha, why are you here? I know better now than to think you’re being talkative to me out of the kindness of your own heart.”

“I’m here for the wine, of course,” she stated with a smile. But he knew better.

“Enjoying the finer things in life?”

“Well, to be forward, I know you have been killing here in England,” she said casually.

“A man has to eat,” he gave a knowing smile, as Agatha’s thoughts raced to her dream with the Detective a few nights ago. She quickly drank down the rest of the wine.

“ _You_ are a naughty nun,” he said, obviously amused at her reaction.

“I have my moments. Dreams allow us to sin without consequence, after all.”

“I see.” He leaned forward. “Then if we were to sin right here, it would be without consequence?”

“That’s different. Now,” she continued, hasty to change the subject. “Others you have turned are running around Romania, murdering people.”.

“You can’t blame them. They are hungry creatures. Trapped for so many years with only scraps.”

“So YOU deprived THEM, and now they are out of control.”

“They always were. They were fed what was needed,” he shrugged. “I had the main courses.”

His lack of empathy was truly telling. He seemed to be intent on creating new ‘brides,’ but didn’t much care to share his food with them.

“Well. I digress. You see, I wish to make use of this bond we have,” she said, standing up.

“How so?” he smirked.

Agatha walked to the fireplace, eyeing a small bronzed dagger on the top of it, which the Count had no doubt used in the past to kill his victims. She wanted to test a theory.

“Simple. I will attempt to access your mind further beyond these dreams, and then maybe I will find what I’m looking for.” She said, pausing before the fire. She felt the warmth of it almost empower her.

“You forget, Agatha. I’ve been in this game for centuries. No bride of mine has ever been able to access my mind. Only I can do that.”

“And yet, here I am,” she said. “You underestimate me, Count Dracula.” Agatha picked up the dagger and faced him. “I know how weak you are.” She smiled as she saw the Count, now standing, watching her intently in what looked like a mixture of horror, worry, and anticipation.

“What are you doing?”

“As I said, I wish to explore our bond.”

Agatha used the dagger to slice open the scar on her palm. She knew he wouldn’t kill her, as he hesitated to last time. In a state of his weakness she could perhaps see more of these visions she seemed to sometimes encounter around him, which she assumed were his own. She figured she could try and squeeze more information, and maybe find exactly where in London he was.

Dracula quickly approached her, eyeing her bleeding hand, and she pointed the dagger at her throat.

“Back away or else,” she said, and he slowly took one step back. She saw him as the beast he was now, eyes bloodthirsty, growling lightly, the light of the fire reflecting on him, making his face look even more feral.

“You will give me what I want, and I will feed you.”

Agatha looked at the blade, with her blood on it, and offered it to him. He leaned in for a taste, but Agatha gripped his jaw with her bleeding hand and stopped him.

“On your knees.”

Without hesitation, Dracula did as he was told, holding her gaze as she continued holding his face with a firm grip. When he was finally on his knees, she moved her palm up to his lips allowing his tongue to lick the full length of her wound in one smooth movement. Agatha couldn’t help but enjoy watching his mouth and his eyes drink in the little blood she had offered him.

She cut herself off from the momentary distraction, pulling her hand away from him. She needed to focus. He growled but remained in place.

“Only when I give to you, will you drink,” she said, fingers tracing the material hanging from her neck, which hid the cross under her gown. “Or else, I will show you this.” She pulled her second weapon, the cross, from beneath her clothing, and showed it to him, and he turned away harshly and snarled.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice rough but seemingly pained.

“As I said, I want to know how far this connection of ours goes.”

He closed his eyes as he felt his mind grow ‘heavy,’ when he suddenly realized what she was doing. He found it hard, however, to block out her assault on his mind, as she waved her bleeding hand over him again, and he drank the drops that spilled over her hand to his lips.

Agatha saw clearly in his mind where he was. She saw images of his new home in England, not this one—and some of the victims he had fed from so far. She tried her best to memorize their faces…She even saw images of this other home, in Romania, and the others like him there. These were his so called “brides”—though they looked much less human than he did.

She gasped lightly at the experience of having seen it all so suddenly.

“How many of you are there?” she asked, pulling her hand away from above him.

“I don’t know exactly,” he said, almost in a whisper, as he kept his eyes on her blood-dripping hand.

“Rather careless of you. Well, nevertheless, I have what I need.”

“Please, let me…”

“Fine. As a treat,” she said. She would take the opportunity to seek out more. She reached out her hand, and he took her wrist and licked her wound again in one long stroke. The contact felt strangely warm and electric, and Agatha pulled her wrist away from him in a quick movement.

“That’s enough. I’m going to wake up now,” she said, feeling more in control of her dream, or his, as Dracula was still in his more weakened state. Agatha turned with the intention of walking back to the staircase, but Dracula grasped the ends of her nightgown, in obvious heightened alarm. She again showed her cross to him, and Dracula turned his face away from her and growled but didn’t let go.

“Please, Agatha,” he whispered harshly. “I need more.”

“You’ve had your fill, especially here in England.”

“I need more,” he said looking up at her with sad, desperate eyes, though bloodthirsty and angry at the same time, that were completely out of character for him. But Dracula was a sort of chameleon, she had learned.

“Were you as generous with your brides as I have been with you?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything, not knowing how to respond to get what he so eagerly wanted. The silence itself was an answer.

“I thought as much.”

“Please, Agatha,” he begged.

“I’ve already given you more than you deserve,” she said as she stepped away from him, but he instead gripped her clothes even more tightly and looked up at her.

“I know what it’s like to be deprived. I always feel deprived around you.” he paused for a moment, musing over his choice of words. “Around your blood.”

“Then I must make your lust for it last. It’s working very well for me,” she shrugged, as she cleaned the rest of the thick red oozing blood from her palm on the end of her nightgown.

He growled at the waste of blood and immediately his mouth was on her gown, pressed against her skin. She felt the heat of his mouth on her through the fabric as he got a taste. Strong fingers tightened around the ends of her clothing as he did so. In reaction to him, she gripped his shirt with her wounded hand to steady herself, feeling slightly dazed.

“Wake up,” she sighed, speaking to herself in a quiet prayer.

And she did. She opened her eyes, glad to be back in her own room.


	8. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daydreams of Dracula continue to interrupt Agatha’s real life, and she contemplates the effects of silver on a vampire.

Detective Stefan visited the convent, waiting in the same room he had always met with Agatha. He was welcomed by one of the three nuns who seemed to know Agatha fairly well. The other Sisters didn’t seem to like him much, but he could see where their resentment came from—A man coming here to talk with one of their Sisters once a week about certain vampiric crimes wasn’t exactly someone they saw in a positive light.

He stood up as Agatha walked out from her study. She was dressed as usual, in her habit, though today her hair was loose and tied back as it sometimes was when he visited her after dark. She was holding what looked like sketches in her hand, her hands with dark steaks on them from charcoal.

“Hello, Agatha,” he smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too. How are you?”

“I’m well. I brought us a meal, and your weekly dose.”

“Thank you,” she said, though she still felt horrid at even accepting the blood. But it was a need she couldn’t deny. “I’m glad you’re here. I brought you something that may be of use to you.”

Agatha placed some the sketches on the table in front of him and took a seat. They were all pictures of the faces she saw, except for one sketch of what looked like part of manor with a landscape behind it. Everything she remembered and could capture from the short visions she managed to extract from the Count.

“Those are some on your missing people. Some dead, some vampires now. And this place,” she said pointing at the other image, “Is where he can be found.”

“How did you get these? These images. How did you retrieve them?”

“Unconventional methods.”

Stefan frowned, seemingly worried for her, but he allowed her to continue.

“Have there been any other murders? Or missing people?” she asked.

Agatha, always to the point. Detective Stefan sighed.

“Near Romania, the murders seem to be moving westward….”

“It makes sense. Dracula is here in England. The other vampires are being drawn to him…” she looked down at the sketches as she sat across him.

“Are you?”

“Am I…?”

“Drawn to him, I mean?” he asked.

“Naturally, in a sense.” she simply stated. There was an uncomfortable silence that lingered. The Detective cleared his throat.

“I will look into these…” he said as he organized all the papers together in a neat pile. “Thank you.”

“Take this with you always,” Agatha said, and handed him a wooden stake she had brought with her. “Though I hope you shouldn’t ever need to use it.”

“What about silver? Would it kill a vampire?”

“I believe it would either severely hurt or paralyze a vampire. The legends have been true so far.”

He nodded.

“And how do you feel? About your current state of mortality…or rather, lack of it.”

“I still feel… _somewhat_ human, fortunately. Though I still need the nourishment from the blood…” she said. “I’ve found though, that I heal rather quickly now.”

“The marks on my neck are gone. And look,” she said, as she opened her hand to show him her palm, which had a light scar. He took her hand in his. “A few nights ago, I saw Dracula in a dream. I cut the palm of my hand, and now the wound is only but the same scar I had before.”

“You wounded yourself?... Agatha, why…” he started, but the concern was quickly clouded by amazement when he looked over her hand and back to her neck. “It’s all fascinating. But you need to be careful. Why did you hurt yourself? Or was it he who harmed you again?”

“It is fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry. I told you I’d investigate the visions I saw. That’s how I made these sketches. I saw images of his home here, and of the others like him. Don’t you see? I can help you even more than only by telling you my stories.”

Stefan sighed, and ran a hand through his sleek black hair.

“What happened in the dream?” he asked.

“I was able to access Dracula’s thoughts again.”

“How is that possible?”

“It is difficult to explain. Our minds are connected somehow through my blood, and his is made cloudy by it. I simply needed to draw out what I was looking for.” She paused a moment. “I must warn you, seeing as you’re so deep into the subject. You cannot underestimate the Count.”

“And you expect me to be alright when you risk yourself?” he said. “I care for you too much.”

Agatha was unsure about to respond to his sudden statement of affection, when she heard the familiar voice of her enemy.

“Oh _, PLEASE_ ,” he said, and Agatha turned around in her seat to see Dracula leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She looked back to Stefan, who wasn’t there anymore.

“Would you please get out of my head?”

“I can’t do the same?” he laughed. “Need I remind you, you bled to see into mine…” He looked away from her now, almost meekly. “I hope you realize he doesn’t love you...”

“Oh, because you know so much about the subject.”

“He feels the same way you do about me. He is fascinated by what you’ve become, what you’ve experienced, your stories of the unnatural…That’s all he cares about,” he shrugged a shoulder as he stepped away from the wall behind him.

“I did not ask your opinion on the matter,” she snapped. He ignored her, instead opening the door to what was her study. Like a curious child, he looked at the tables with open books and writings on paper and parchment and seemed intent on touching or observing everything he saw.

“Interesting place…So this is your hideaway, is it?” he said, as he ran his fingers across a page from a book about his kind.

“Yes, it’s my study. A haven of sorts,” she stated, as she walked up next to him and observed an open page about weapons. “I had one in Budapest, and I’ve made one here.”

“I remember,” he smiled. He observed her face which was deep in thought. “Aren’t you resourceful. Why did you join the convent, Sister Agatha?” he asked.

“It was necessary,” she answered. “Though, I suppose a part of me was truly seeking confirmation of God.”

“Hm. And what inspired all of this?” he said, his eyes looking over all the research, laid out plainly before them.

Her fascination with all dark things, she supposed, was born from several experiences and her instinctive want to discover and dissect. But she went with the main reason she had been attracted to it all in the first place.

“The same. In darkness, there is always the revelation of light. I was hoping to find God.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” she beamed a smile at him now. “I did…And what have you found? Besides an obvious unquenchable appetite for blood and destruction.”

“Power and knowledge,” he said without hesitation.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “Does one ever get tired of having too much power?”

“Well, I’ll always have you to keep me in line,” he smirked. “And I do know you appreciate both power _and_ knowledge, Agatha.”

That much was true. She exhaled sharply and looked back at her books and pages, messily splayed out among the table, a shiny object buried among them.

“How exactly do you turn people? Is it in your control? How does it all work, exactly?” she asked out of pure curiosity.

“Same as the dreaming. I don’t have to do much. The magic is solely in the fangs,” he smiled, revealing the sharp teeth.

“Of course the venom would be in the fangs, treacherous snake that you are,” she laughed. He returned a small smile, seemingly amused and complimented at the insult.

“Were you always a vampire?” she inquired.

He considered answering but decided instead to decline the question.

“I can’t tell you everything, Agatha. I need to keep you curious.”

“Are you afraid I’ll kill you, if you don’t sustain my curiosity?”

“Of course not,” he said, affection and playfulness in his voice.

Agatha suddenly pulled the silver dagger hidden amongst the pages beside them and put the sharp blade against his throat.

“What about now?”

He looked worried at first as he felt the weapon in the hands of his enemy. Then he locked eyes with her, feeling—and seeing—her strange hesitation. It washed over Agatha quickly, though. But not quicker than Dracula. In a movement too quick for Agatha to register, she was pressed against the stone wall of her study, her wrists pinned against the hard and cold rock. She didn’t try to pull away, accepting that he was physically stronger than she was—especially given his supernatural gifts. Dracula loomed over her, a crack in his calm demeanor as he frowned at her momentarily, but he quickly recovered.

“You hesitated,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning into the smallest of smiles as he leaned into her slightly.

“I suppose I’m only human. My conscience is still intact.” she said, although she wasn’t sure of the former.

“Mine isn’t,” he reminded her.

Obviously, it wasn’t. But she still had to counter, “Yet you keep me alive.”

“For the same reason I can’t sink my teeth into your neck anymore,” he said. “Because you’re a perfect hybrid. Because I made you.”

“You didn’t make me. God did.”

“Then I improved you.”

“You ruined me.”

“There’s no ruining you, Agatha.”

“I could’ve been a monster because of you. And for what? For you to grow your army of bloodsuckers across Europe?”

“I don’t want us to argue,” he said.

“What is it that you want then?”

He sighed and raised his eyebrows, looking around the room for a moment, his eyes searching for an answer.

“I suppose I’m alright with conversation over a game of chess,” he said, turning back to her.

“Maybe in our next dream,” she replied.

He laughed lightly. She felt his hands move slowly up her wrists from where he held her, to her hands. It was a strange gesture from him, a manipulating one, that caught her off guard.

Agatha inhaled sharply to focus on keeping her calm. It surprised her how his closeness and touch seemed to further flourish their blood connection, bringing into her mind sudden glimpses of visions and an array of feelings that came and went too quickly for her to properly grasp. It was distracting, to say the least. She was curious how much he saw of her own mind.

‘’You’re wondering about the silver. That’s not something I can say I’ve tested yet. But seeing as you’re healing so well,” he said, as he softly rubbed the light scar along her palm. “Maybe we can try it on you.”

She should’ve dropped the blade when she had the chance. But now she couldn’t as his hands were over hers. She wondered if there was the slightest chance the silver would kill, as the Detective had mentioned. She knew the vampire was hesitant to kill her—But Dracula’s curiosity, something he shared with her, may be greater than any notion that had him keeping her alive. Agatha knew how strong curiosity could be. He could easily take the blade from her now and harm, or even end her life, if he felt so inclined to. He was impulsive enough to do so, after all.

Instead, he leaned closer towards her. His eyes gleamed with some sort of false affection, and it disturbed her how drawn she was to him.

“Agatha…”

She turned her face away from him as she heard the Detective’s voice, breaking her out of her spell.

When she awoke from this daydream, she gasped loudly and touched her neck on instinct, feeling heat pooling throughout her body. But there was no blood. She was standing in her study, the silver blade on the floor, as Stefan shook her lightly until she was fully aware again.


	9. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha denies her need for blood, she faints, and her Sisters come to her rescue. (Dracula makes a ~brief~ appearance).

It was Sunday and everyone was gathered in the Church. It had been obvious to some of the others that Agatha was not well the past few days. Sister Maria, and the other two Sisters who were close with Agatha, had noticed that that Agatha was often tired, and distracted, and it wasn’t anything to do with her sleeping at odd hours or her general strange extracurricular activities. During prayer, Maria sat next to Agatha, and noticed again she appeared tired and unfocused.

“Agatha,” she whispered and shook her a little by the arm. “Are you alright?”

“Just a little faint,” she said.

Mother Superior was reading from the Bible, but Agatha found herself constantly losing focus. She had been denying herself blood, seeing if she could reverse her need for it, but obviously it was not so. She closed her eyes in prayer, and felt the whole room grow quiet as she felt the loss of the presence of her Sisters.

When she opened her eyes, he was there. As usual.

“What are you doing here?”

“Surprised to see me again?” he asked.

She observed him sitting at the front of Church, where someone much holier than he was had been just a few seconds before.

“I’m more surprised you haven’t burst into flames.”

He chuckled.

“Tell me, what is so appealing about all,” he waved his hand in the air. “All this.”

“You wouldn’t understand, because you think yourself superior to everything. Now please leave. It’s Sunday. I need at least one day to rest from your presence.”

“I’m here to remind you to eat,” he said. “Have you had your blood lately?”

She pondered for a moment how he would even know that.

“No, I suppose not…How did you know that, exactly?”

“Let’s just say I sensed your weakness…through…” he motioned between them. “Whatever this is.”

“And you still haven’t fed from a human,” he continued. “You should try one of your Sisters.”

“Don’t be vile. I would kill myself before I kill an innocent.”

Agatha suddenly felt cold all over now, as if someone had just thrown water on her.

“Sister Agatha, wake up!”

She opened her eyes and found herself on the floor of her study. Maria, Lily, and Florence looked over her, seemingly worried.

“I’m awake,” she said as she sat up abruptly, and Maria put a hand on her shoulder.

“Please relax, Agatha, you’ve just fainted.”

“In the middle of a reading,” added Lily. “The others looked as though they thought you had been possessed by the Devil.”

“I might be,” said Agatha, but as she looked upon her Sisters, she almost regretted saying it. “It was a joke,” she added, raising her eyebrows at them. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Maybe you need to eat,” said Florence, and Agatha was reminded of what the Count had just told her. He was probably right. She had denied herself the now natural need.

“I’m fine. I will eat later. Thank you all, I’m sorry for all the trouble,” she said as she stood, Maria helping her up. “You can all go, I will rest--”

“Agatha, we are not going to leave until you tell us what is going on.”

“Maria, please just let it go.”

“But we’re here for you. If no one else is, the three of us are,” added Lily, with a sympathetic smile.

“You have to tell us. We know about your…extracurricular activities, and we ourselves read from your books, learn from you. You can tell us anything.”

Even Florence, who was more apt to letting things go, stood with them, insisting Agatha tell them whatever she had been hiding.

“Alright. If you insist. In that case,” Agatha sighed. She walked to the cabinet in the far corner of the room, where she had the bag of blood the detective brought her. She took it out and observed her Sisters’ horrified faced as she gulped the blood down quickly and licked her lips. She felt her fangs retract as she did so, which always happened when she was struck with the sudden scent or taste of blood.

“Was that…” said Florence in a soft voice.

“Blood,” finished Lily. “Is it?” Her eyes were wide, but she knew the answer to her own question. Her and her Sisters had already read so many stories of these vampires.

“Well what else is it going to be?” said Maria.

“It could always be…wine?”

“Why would she hide wine, when it is the blood of Christ?”

“Maybe it isn’t wine.

“What else could it be?”

“Cranberry juice?”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” interrupted Agatha, having had enough of their silly disbelief and outrageous conversation. “YES, it’s blood of course.”

“Are you a—a--” Lily sighed in disbelief.

Florence was practically shaking, but silent as she looked around for a weapon of some sort.

“What she means is, are you a danger to us?” asked Maria.

“No. I will leave the convent—I will die before that happens.”

“Then we trust you. You are our Sister and our friend.”

“Yes, we are with you,” said Lily, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance.

“Florence, put the stake down,” ordered Maria, and Florence dropped the weapon she had suddenly retrieved in a moment of fright. Agatha couldn’t help being amused at the whole situation but tried to remain serious.

_“Tell us everything.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to introduce Agatha's Sisters / the concept of 'Dracula's 3 brides' for Agatha. They will come into play later. [Side note: I lol'd writing Florence with the stake and them arguing about what Agatha was drinking. Hysterical stuff]


	10. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha passes out candy on October 31st. Dracula is there and they have a decent conversation. [This is pretty fluffy]

In spite of the fact that her Sisters were now more worried for her, it was a relief of sorts to tell them about her dreams and her experiences with the vampire. Maria, Lily, and Florence tried to keep watch on her, sometimes even while she slept, something that Agatha found sweet but also a bit suffocating at times. She was used to being on her own, given that she had been very independent since a young age.

Tonight at least was an escape from everyone. Her Sisters had already gone to bed, and the Detective wouldn’t pass by for another week or so.

It was Hallow’s Eve, and Agatha was sitting outside in the back of the convent. Every now and then she would give out peppermint candies or chocolate to some of the children who passed by. They were dressed up in scary costumes; some say they did so to ward off evil spirits. It was a strange tradition, not exactly one the church approved of, but Agatha had always managed a way to give treats or at least pieces of desserts to the children who would pass by, laughing and attempting to instill fear with their masks and costumes.

She noticed that here in England, there was even more of an enthusiasm for the holiday. She was glad the Detective had brought her chocolates a few days ago. Otherwise, the peppermint candies she had made would probably have not been enough.

Agatha heard the loud growl and laughter of a child, who was dressed all in black and wearing some orange paper mask….She wasn’t sure what he was pretending to be, but the little girl he was with was dressed all in white, pretending to be a ghost. The girl giggled as her and her older brother approached Agatha excitedly, to peek into the bowl she was holding.

“What are you dressed as?” asked the boy.

“I’m a nun,” she said. “Though not only for tonight. I live here at the convent.”

“She’s a God warrior,” said the little girl, who sounded thrilled.

“That’s an interesting way to put it. Thank you,” she smiled.

“What treats do you have?” asked the boy.

“Peppermint and chocolate. Which do you prefer?”

The two replied at the same time with a different answer. Agatha laughed. She gave them each a piece of what they had asked for.

“What _are_ you doing?”

Agatha startled a bit at Dracula’s voice, and turned in her seat to see him standing next to her. Agatha worried for a moment and looked back at the two children to see if they saw him at all. These daydreams kept becoming stranger and stranger…The children didn’t seem to notice the vampire’s presence at all, although they were present at the same time as he was. They thanked Agatha for the candy and chocolate.

“You’re welcome. Have a safe night,” she smiled, as they turned and left, running excitedly down the path.

“To answer your question,” she said. “It’s Hallow’s Eve. So I am giving out treats to the children.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “ _What?_ ”

“Some of the children dress up in costumes on one night of the year. I believe it all started as a way to scare off the demons,” she smirked, looking up at him. “Apparently those two needed a more frightening costume.”

He chuckled.

Briefly, Agatha thought of the prospect of children running up to Dracula’s castle, knocking and looking for candy. It amused her, though in reality, that probably would not end well at all.

“What an odd tradition,” he said, sounding positively fascinated. “And I assume you are hiding out here, because your Sisters—or your Church--don’t partake in the holiday?”

“Yes, correct…Today the 31st is observed differently by the Church. It is the eve of All Saints day.”

Another group of children passed by, and seeing the lantern and Agatha outside, ran to her and picked up their pieces of candy.

Dracula leaned against the wall next to Agatha, observing the strange scene. He hadn’t before heard of such a tradition. The children ran off, giggling and chewing on their candy.

“How long have you been doing this for?”

“Many years, I suppose. There were a few children in Budapest who would pass by the convent. Here in England, there seem to be more who celebrate the holiday. And it’s only my first year here,” she said, sounding excited at the prospect. “Now they’ll come to know me, and next year, they’ll be back for more candy. I made the peppermint myself,” she said proudly. He smiled at her.

“You’ll be, no doubt, everyone’s favorite nun,” he mused, as she gave candy to a boy who passed by, wearing a mask.

“I almost wish they could see you. You’d be able to spook them pretty well with those monstrous fangs of yours,” she smiled. “Your colony of bats would’ve added to the ambience as well.”

He laughed at that.

“Ah, well, those are a bit difficult to summon at the moment.”

Agatha’s bowl was almost finished, and a girl approached her wordlessly, with a paper bag wide open. She was dressed in black, as a witch.

“So. Tell me,” Agatha said. “Are you really a witch?”

The girl smiled brightly for the first time and nodded yes.

“Do you think you can do me a favor then? I need a spell.”

The girl nodded. Agatha whispered something in her ear, and the girl giggled, and ran to the opposite side of Agatha, on her right side instead of the left, where the Count was. The girl seemed to utter nonsense and wave her hands around in the air. Agatha held in her laughter as she noted the Count’s bemused expression.

“Thank you. I think it worked. Now, here’s your chocolate.”

“Thank you,” said the girl, who gave her a big hug afterwards.

“Be safe.”

“What on Earth did you tell her?”

“I told her I had a vampire looming over me, and I needed her to say a spell to cast him away. Except she went on the wrong side and muttered it at the wall,” she laughed.

“You are intensely maternal,” said the Count, sounding amused at it all. “It is almost a shame you didn’t choose to marry and have children of your own.”

“In terms of motherhood, I can’t say. But I would’ve made a terrible wife,” she joked.

“That’s subjective. You’d make a difficult one though, I’m sure.” He added. “You never gave it thought to be a mother?”

She paused for a moment. “I had thought about it in the past, but ultimately, it wasn’t something I sought out, I suppose. Not above knowledge.”

“You could’ve pursued both. Or anything you wanted, really…But it might’ve been for the best. Little Van Helsings spreading around would surely bring on the rapture your blessed Bible speaks so much of. In the least, no doubt the end of my breed.”

“The end of your breed…That is a convincing argument. Makes me wish I would’ve _had_ children,” she smiled. “And I don’t suppose your offspring would bring much chaos to the world? Your bloodthirsty brides are already running loose causing havoc.”

“Well, regardless of the fact, it’s always nice to keep the lineage going,” he smirked.

After she gave out more treats to a large group of children, there were only two pieces left. Dracula took the last piece of peppermint and plopped it into his mouth. Agatha was obviously annoyed and frowned at him.

“I didn’t tell you to take a piece.”

“I just wanted a taste. You said you made it.”

She sighed. “Well, no matter. It’s late. I don’t think any more children should be out,” she said, taking the last piece of chocolate and treating herself to it.

“Well?” she asked.

“It _has_ been a while since I tasted anything but blood. This is actually quite good,” he said.

For a moment, they remained in silence, simply enjoying the night breeze. It was a comfortable silence, and neither of them thought much of it. Agatha leaned back in her chair and looked up at the full moon, which peeked out through the clouds.

“Do you know what I just thought of,” she said, turning to look at the Count, who was bathed in moonlight.

“What?” he said. He was still leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and he looked completely calm. She could swear they really were friends, at least for tonight.

She smiled a little, putting aside all the negativity in her heart about him, and simply appreciated their moment, their conversation, and his handsomeness, even. Inwardly she knew this was all…absurd. She would pray to God for a little more clarity—and sanity--later.

“The moonlight reflects sunlight, and yet, _you’re_ not burning alive right now,” she stated.

He frowned and tilted his head a bit, truly pondering what she had just said. Then he shrugged, seemingly having thought up a rational explanation for it.

“I assume it’s because it’s not as intense, when reflected.”

“That makes sense, I suppose. The moon doesn’t reflect even half of actual sunlight, after all.”

She pondered the subject. “Did you know the moon is always illuminated? But we only see it in its fullness as the Earth stands between the sun and the moon. It’s a blessing we have the night to see it.”

“Mm. I see,” he said, turning to look at her. “In darkness, there is always the revelation of light,” he said, remembering her words to him.

“It is always delightful to talk with you, Agatha. I feel I could drain you and still not know exactly how that mind of yours works, or even the extent of your knowledge” he joked darkly.

Accustomed to his morbid statements by now, she simply answered him as best she could.

“The convent gave me the opportunity to educate myself more on whatever I wanted. Needless to say I’ve read quite a lot.”

“And lots about me.”

“Yes, you’re truly a character straight out of the books. You’re really quite fascinating,” she admitted, at which he smiled at her enthusiasm.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he stated.

He was distracting in every way. It was no surprise he managed to be so dangerous. It was more than his obvious vampiric powers that made him a threat. A perfect predator.

Agatha figured she’d better leave for the night, before she got caught out here by someone. She hoped to do some light reading and have some (hopefully dreamless) sleep afterwards.

“Well,” she said, as she stood up. “I'd better head to my room for the evening.”

“I’m not invited?” he teased.

“No. Though it seems like these days, you don’t even need an invitation to show up around me.”

“I am always striving to expand my skill set.”

“As am I,” she gave him a small smile and stepped inside the gates of her convent. “Have a good night, Count Dracula.”

“Sweet dreams,” he called out after her, as she entered the convent.

She truly hoped he wasn’t suggesting anything, as she had already had far too much of her routine dose of the vampire’s presence. She settled down into her bed after a few minutes of reading and praying, and lay down to rest in her bed, falling asleep instantly. No dreams at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsure about this one. Keep or delete? Let me know. Hmm I wish I had a beta.


	11. Chocolates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Your favorite character is back and brings Agatha more chocolates. (:

Through she was initially apprehensive, nothing too terrible had come from any of the dreams or daydreams, even. Surprisingly, her and the vampire managed to be cordial enough.

Agatha took the strange connection as an opportunity for her to delve more into her curiosities, while helping the Detective with whatever new information she could give him. It wasn’t exactly helpful, however, that she rarely was able to access Dracula’s place in England, but rather his Romanian castle. Regardless, Agatha took the chance to explore the castle at least until Dracula found her—which he always did. She was intrigued beyond measure of him and his world in its entirety. The fact was, admittedly, a disturbing one.

Though it was far from easy, Agatha tried her best to try to refrain from seeing the Count at all at least when she had company. She was particularly alarmed at Dracula’s appearances during prayer, as it was an obvious sign she needed to practice it more often.

Fortunately, she hadn’t seen much of him lately.

She read peacefully in her study until Sister Lily walked in to advise her of her visitor.

“It’s the Detective. He’s here for you. And it looks like he continues to bring you presents,” said Lily. “I can only hope he doesn’t persuade you to leave the convent.”

“It would take more than presents for that, Lily,” Agatha smiled. She left to the visitors’ room next to her study, and saw the Detective waiting for her eagerly with another small bag of chocolates.

“I brought some more chocolates for you, so your Sisters could try as well,” Stefan said.

“Bold of you to assume I’d share,” she joked. “You didn’t have to bring me anything more, but thank you," she said, as he gave her the gift. They took a seat in front of each other.

‘We nuns aren’t supposed to indulge.”

He smiled.

“I suppose I’ll take those back then—"

“Well, I didn’t say I was an exemplary nun,” she added, taking a bite of a piece of chocolate. “So, have you found anything?” she continued.

“Oh—yes, regarding Dracula’s whereabouts?”

Agatha nodded. The Detective noticed at the mention of the Count, her eyes beamed with excitement, and she seemed all too willing to find out more about him. Whether it was because of her desire to be rid of him, or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“I met with someone and showed them the pictures you gave me. I should have more information soon. But aside from that…How have you been, Agatha?”

“I’ve been good.”

“Are you still having your dreams?”

“Every so often.”

It was more than she was willing admit, but she didn’t want to worry him.

“This back and forth you have with Dracula. It’s odd.”

“I’m still having trouble understanding it myself,” she said, taking another bite. She was pensive, even now trying to decipher the puzzle of the subject he had brought up.

“Don’t you think you are feeding off each other?...If you don’t mind the pun.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“You may be subconsciously allowing him in. And vice versa. If you’re able to wake yourself sometimes, maybe you have more control over this than you think.”

“I try my best to exercise control. In truth, I haven’t experienced any real consequence from the dreams.”

He could see she was stirred in some way and hoped he hadn’t been too forward about his concerns.

“I just mean that…Maybe if you continue thinking about him, immersing yourself into the subject of vampirism itself, you may be adding to your dreams. You’re stirring up a mutual interest.”

Obviously, Agatha had to admit, he had a point. And it was rather unsettling.

Maybe she did think about Dracula and her own demons too often. But it seemed contradictory that Stefan had begun to visit her as a means to find out more about her own experiences with vampirism, and now he was telling her to not think of it.

“We don’t need to talk about any of it anymore, Dracula, the murders going on, nothing.”

“Look Detective, I understand your concern. But you need to trust me. And as a friend, I will not give up on helping you in any way I can.”

“I will have to respect that then. May I tell you something about myself?” Stefan asked.

Right then, Agatha felt a strange haze clouding her mind for a moment and she shook it off internally after a deep breath.

“Yes, of course.”

“I was once married. A very long time ago. She passed away about two years into our marriage.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He was silent for a moment, thinking over his next words carefully.

“It was many years ago. But I don’t mind talking about it with you,” he gave her a sad sort of smile. “You see, her death was what made me start investigating. She became very ill, and I noticed she had the mark--the same mark you had on your neck when I first met you. The mark of the vampire. And one day, she was—”

He stammered a bit. Agatha knew it wasn’t at all easy for him to revisit those memories.

“I know what it is like to lose someone. I really am sorry.” she reached out and placed her hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s alright. I wanted to tell you, so you would understand why I worry. And why I investigate what I do.”

“You seek to avenge her.”

It was a blunt statement, but a true one.

“Maybe,” he said, remaining silent for a moment. “But enough about me. And you? Decided on the convent instead of a loving husband? Why?”

She thought it was odd how Dracula had asked her a similar question a few nights ago.

“Well, as I mentioned before, I may not be an exemplary nun but I’d make an even worse wife,” she said trying to lighten the mood a bit. “The convent was more suitable.”

He laughed.

“Perhaps we both need a fresh start,” he smiled, leaning into her.

She didn’t say anything to this. She felt a certain kind of pull, though not towards him--one she began to recognize belonged to her terribly deep bond with the vampire. She closed her eyes for a moment, and slammed her hands on the table, not needing Dracula to interrupt her conversation again, like he very often did.

“I—I apologize,” she said. “I’m trying to focus.”

“Stay with me,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He was always patient, gentle, and she appreciated him for it.

“I try,” she smiled.

“Agatha,” he stammered a bit at his next words. “Do you think, in time, we could consider starting over? Just you and me?”

He was being bold again—but this time it surprised her a bit. The revelation of his wife--in addition to his intense investigation of Agatha’s own experiences with the vampire, and the murders in Europe--showed that he needed to find his own closure before moving on to any sort of romantic relationship. And in spite of the fact that she had entertained the idea of being with him, she wasn’t sure if she could offer him what he sought out, and she certainly wasn’t going to lie to him about it.

“I must be direct,” she said, though it hurt her to do so, given the topics he had mentioned this evening. 

“Your directness is what I’m most fond of…But you don’t have to answer right now if you don’t want to,” he took her hands in his. “I’m afraid I can say too much sometimes.”

She felt again the sudden attempted invasion of her mind, her space, her moment. She looked around, trying to hold on. It was not the time for Dracula’s games or interruptions.

She closed her eyes, attempting to remain calm and focused.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just having a little trouble.” 

“ _What are you having trouble with, Agatha_?”

She opened her eyes immediately at the sound of Dracula’s voice, disappointed in her own failure to keep him away. He was leaning over her, seemingly casting a shadow on her all her surroundings.


	12. Quid Pro Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha and Dracula strike a deal. Also, a romantic gesture.

_Sorry, I’m just having a little trouble.”_

_“What are you having trouble with, Agatha?”_

_She opened her eyes immediately at the sound of Dracula’s voice, disappointed in her own failure to keep him away. He was leaning over her, seemingly casting a shadow on her all her surroundings._

“Forward, isn’t he,” Dracula raised his eyebrows, apparently having caught on to part of her conversation with the Detective as he usually did.

“You’re one to talk,” she said as she stood. “You are infuriating.”

“I see he brought you more chocolates. I much prefer your peppermints.”

“Drop by next October then. For now, I would appreciate it if you left me alone.”

“Here I thought we were friends.”

Agatha had learned to tolerate him in her sleep or when she wasn’t otherwise occupied. She even found herself getting along with him sometimes, as she did a couple of nights ago. But his constant interruptions of her conversations with others was truly aggravating.

“Please stay out of my mind when I have company, in the least.”

“What better company would you need than a centuries old vampire?” he said, now taking a seat where Stefan had been just moments ago. “Or centuries young. It’s subjective, really.” He leaned back comfortably in the chair, smug as always, his legs splayed apart. His posture as if he owned the place.

Agatha sighed, annoyed and unable to follow his ridiculous attempts to humor her. She was now especially worried that somehow, these episodes would come back to haunt her even more than they already did.

“That is far from the point. I was talking to a friend.”

“Hm. So you are set on entertaining the Detective.”

“I am set on talking to him, yes. He will lead me to you, if he doesn’t find you himself first.”

“But you are _quite_ fond of him,” he smiled.

“What does it matter if I am or not?”

“It doesn’t. But remember what I said, Agatha. The sophistication of a gentleman is _always_ a veneer.”

“That might be true, but not all men are as pitiful and crude as yourself.”

She could see that her words had vexed him at least in the slightest when his smile dropped for a moment. It was an act she wouldn’t have caught if she had not always been so observant and come to know him so well.

“You’re lucky you make such an excellent bride. You like to provoke me too often.”

“I didn’t know I was provoking you,” she gave him a smile now, surprised at the revelation. Even vampires were strangely competitive. “Something else I’ve learned about you.”

He looked down and his more serious face turned to a half smile. He was always edging on another kind of reaction, but truly managed to compose himself well so long as she didn’t wave her blood around him.

“Are you afraid you’ll be found?” she stepped towards him. She knew his fear was rare, but still existed somewhere in his nature.

“Oh, I’m not worried. The question is, do you really want him to find me?”

In truth, Agatha knew she should be worried for Stefan, but he was set on his mission, and she understood his reasons for it. Agatha was more afraid of Stefan encountering his own wife as a vampire were she undead, than him encountering Dracula himself.

“I reckon he’s prepared enough for an encounter with a vampire, whether it be you or any of your victims.”

“But you and I both know I’m more than a vampire.”

“We’ll see,” she said. “Tell me, was it you who killed his wife? Or did you curse her as you did to me?”

“Now Agatha, although I’m keen on our conversations,” he said. “Your questioning has led to… _complications_ before.”

“Such as?” she asked, though she already knew.

“Where do I start?” he chuckled a bit, leaning back in his chair a bit more.

But she knew all too well what he meant. The ship, taunting him with her blood as she delved into his memories, the silver against his throat.

“So you are afraid.”

“No--”

“Then you should have no issue with answering my questions,” she said simply. She sat down on the table in front of him, determined to question him a bit more. Agatha would later note how casual as she had become around the vampire—it was unnatural, and yet she didn’t think much of it at the time. He looked down at the blue clothing in front of him as she smoothed out her skirt.

“I’m not inclined to help you or your Detective friend,” he stated plainly.

“What a shame. Although I’m sure if I bled again you’d answer any of my questions, and I could retrieve anything else I wanted. Would you like me to do that instead?”

It was a threat, and she saw his eyes darken at the suggestion. Instinctively, he ran his tongue over his back teeth. The hunger, the addiction to at least _tasting_ something, was blatantly obvious beneath his calm exterior. Luckily, Agatha was in no mood to do anything past entertain the idea.

“I wouldn’t let you slip away so easily next time,” he said softly, though his own threat was apparent in his voice.

“I’ll spare you the humiliation,” she said. She decided to take a different approach and ask him something else she had been wondering. “Tell me about you instead. Do you remember your first time feeding? Your first time hunting for someone?” she asked. She fiddled with her necklace as she contemplated his past.

“Oh, I remember all my first times, Agatha. What about you?”

“I remember what is necessary to,” she said. “I think we were talking about you, however.”

“You already know an alarming amount about me.”

“And you about me,” she said. “So tell me, what was it like?”

“You should find out for yourself.”

“Tempting. But I don’t think I will.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

He stood from his seat and towered over her again as he made his way in front of her. Dracula placed his hands on either side of her on the table, enclosing her in easily. The proximity took her by surprise. In truth, Agatha hated his natural physical dominance over her.

He leaned in next to her.

“I think you would like it,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

“Why do you say that?” she said, turning to him. “I may share some of your nature now, but I don’t share in your corruption.”

He leaned back to look at her, mock disappointment playing on his face at what she just said.

“No? Well, just think how it would improve you, Agatha. To drink the blood of someone living. You could gain so much from it. So much knowledge, so much strength, in addition to that which you already possess. You have so much potential,” he said, seemingly excited at the prospect.

“Your lack of empathy never seizes to amaze me. I’m flattered, obviously, that a beast would think so highly of me,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She turned away from the vampire for a moment, seeking out the Detective, but it was proving difficult, especially given the closeness of the Count before her.

“Well, I do love to be the giver of first times,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Say the word, Agatha, and I’ll pick someone out just for you.”

“With your lack of self-control, you’d probably drain my potential victim before I even got the chance to meet them.”

He laughed and stepped back, giving her back her revered personal space.

“May I ask why you’re so interested in me?”

“I thought you understood my fascination. You explained it to me yourself.”

It was true. He had seen it in her study; He had also tasted her enough now to know she was wicked in her own way, and oddly attracted to exactly what she stood against—and he was connected to it all. She was sharp and intense, seeking out knowledge of the forbidden—but intelligent enough to keep a safe distance from it and worship what she respected, what drove her good nature.

Yet, she was so intensely determined and inquisitive that he sought to fully understand her nature, her motivations. Somehow what he came to know through his consumption of her was not enough.

“I suppose I do…understand,” he said.

Agatha still felt he was curious, trying to figure something out. She knew exactly what that was like, after all.

“What I know about you may help me in time,” she said.

Although, they both knew it was more than that.

“Why don’t we make a deal?”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“But you’re intrigued, I hope?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“It’s nothing too bad, I promise.” He smiled. “Quid pro quo. I’ll _try_ to answer every question of yours, but for each one, I’ll ask you one in return.”

He extended a hand out to her.

“What do you say, Sister Agatha?”

Of course, everything came at a price with him. To Agatha it sounded like a deal with the Devil, but it’s not like she hadn’t made one before. Though it was obviously not the best idea, what more could he really do to her. He had practically almost killed her.

“Deal.”

She smiled as she slid off the table and shook his hand, the sudden feel exhilarating her senses, like a strong current making its way through her as she touched him. She was taken aback at sensing his own memories somehow, visions of him clear to her as day…She could see glimpses of him when he was younger, in the sun. The realization that he _must have_ been mortal once. Unless there was another explanation she had not thought of as yet.

It was a strange shock to feel the strength of whatever this was. Dracula seemed to feel the same thing, the strange connection, the realization clear to them both as their eyes met. She only wondered what he saw of her.

They held on to each other a moment longer than necessary, the interest holding them both.

“I’ll try to continue indulging your curiosities then,” he said, before they both let go.

“I’m going to assume you won’t tell me where you are,” she said after a moment.

“I’m sure you’ll find me in due time,” he smiled.

“First question then: Detective Stefan Weber’s wife, is she dead or a vampire?”

She could see that he had expected her to ask him about himself again, but Agatha knew it was best to get the important things out of the way first.

“I couldn’t say. I’ve had many meals in my centuries.”

“I thought you were particular about your meals,” she said, taking a bite of one of the chocolates Stefan had brought her.

“Oh, I am,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Do you remember every piece of chocolate you’ve ever taken a bite of? Every tasteful meal? You probably only recall the very best. It is rare my victims make much more than a fleeting impression on me. They… _become_ me.”

The words of course were morbid, and she was nevertheless fascinated by the concept.

“Of course. Blood is lives…” she pondered, before getting back on the subject. “So you really don’t know.”

“Maybe I didn’t touch her at all. I don’t recall meeting any Mrs. Stefan… _Weber_. Though you seem to be on your way to becoming her,” he smirked. “I _suppose_ she could be one of mine…I could probably be of more help if you could tell me her full name—maiden name, that is.”

“Why would she--” Then she realized what he meant. Agatha knew Dracula made use of seducing his victims somehow, but she was nevertheless appalled at his suggestion.

“You’re saying she might have been unfaithful to him.” she scoffed. “He is a good man. I am assuming they were very much in love.”

“And yet, in all my years of feeding, I have rarely tasted it.” 

If that was so, it struck her as odd, sad even.

Faintly, she heard the Detective’s voice…and she suddenly remembered that she was in the middle of a meeting with him. It frightened her how time seemed to pass by, how she seemed to forget her reality around the Count.

She tried to snap out of the distraction.

“So soon?” Dracula asked, seemingly reading her thoughts. “Not so fast, Agatha. It’s my turn.”

“Next time. You were barely any help, and as we both know, I have company at the moment. So, if you would please--”

She closed her eyes for a second but opened them immediately when she felt soft lips on hers.

She braced herself on the table behind her as the act came as a sudden shock to her. The Detective had kissed her so quickly she barely registered it. Stefan pulled back from her slightly, holding her face in his hands. Agatha looked around, feeling a bit disoriented at being reintroduced to her reality.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry,” he said, smiling a bit. “It was the only thing that worked. I lost you again.”

“I’m fine,” she said, trying not to alarm him after he showed his concerns at these episodes of hers... She placed a hand on his cheek, trying to feel something, see something. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, really. “Really. Thank you for waking me from that.”

“Of course. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Agatha stepped back from him.

“Yes, I am. Don’t be worried.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I—I can’t say I have anything helpful to mention…although…Stefan, I know this is a sensitive topic, but can you tell me your wife’s name? Her name before marriage?”

“Why do you ask?”

Used to her bluntness, he was not surprised she had asked the question.

“I think you should know if she is at peace or not. It’s more important than avenging her. I could try to find out.”

“Agatha,” he nodded his head, knowing what she meant. “She can’t be undead. I buried her myself.”

She could only hope his wife was at peace, as the Detective insinuated. She didn’t press on the subject anymore for the rest of the evening and went to get some much needed rest after the Detective left.


	13. Say Your Prayers, Agatha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some dreaming, some backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The love, Thanks everyone. <3

“ _It was a dark night_ , full of mist in the air. It was unnaturally quiet as he walked the grounds, when he saw her figure emerge from the fog,” she said dramatically. “She wore the same dress from their wedding night. The dress she was buried in. She had come to life again, but she was not herself. She reached out her arms to him, and he walked to his lost love as if under a spell…”

One of the girls gasped, as the other continued to listen intently. The young girl chuckled before continuing her tale.

“When he reached her, he knew he had made a mistake. It wasn’t her. It was a demon, in her shape, possessing her body and soul. When she smiled, her teeth were sharp as knives and blood dripped from her _deadly_ white fangs. The curse of the vampire was upon her.”

It was a ritual of sorts, to sneak out in the middle of the night, and tell scary stories around a campfire they made. A welcome escape from the cruelty of their situation.

“Look who I found. Agatha Van Helsing.” a voice interrupted, and the storyteller frowned at the familiar voice, annoyed at the interruption of her tale. Suddenly she realized—she became completely aware she was dreaming, reliving a memory.

“And her two friends. All stories and no play.” The girl laughed. “You’re all in so much trouble.”

Agatha looked at the girl, slightly older than her. When she had first come here, Agatha was quick to defend the younger girls from the teasing of others—and it got her into trouble, didn’t earn her many friends. Though she still had a bandage on her face from one of her recent encounters with the older girl, she was more annoyed than frightened or angry. She considered bullies the least of her problems at the orphanage.

“Please don’t tell,” said one of the girls weakly.

“We were about to go back inside,” said Agatha plainly.

“Oh, but I found something out. You are stranger than the freak I knew you were when you first got here…So—Tell me--Is this awfully important to you?”

Agatha stood up as she saw the girl holding pages that belonged to her. Writing all over them about everything. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. She wasn’t afraid of her, but she cared for what she held.

“Give those to me,” she said, but the girl stepped back near the fire and held the pages up high as she laughed. ( _Agatha now couldn’t for her life remember the name of her_ ).

“Those are my father’s pages.”

His writing was all over them, things he had written for himself, left for her.

“ _Were._ Were your father’s. He _is_ dead now, isn’t he?”

“Stop it.—” said one of the girls, trying to defend their leader, but the other stopped her.

“You’ll only make it worse,” she told the other. They were both smaller, and younger than Agatha, much younger than the older girl.

Agatha again tried to snatch the pages away from her.

“I said, give those back,” but before Agatha could reach her, the girl tossed the papers in the fire and laughed. She pushed Agatha down to the ground easily. Agatha was tall, but frail and small for someone her age, especially since prior to the orphanage, she had gotten by without much food at all. She hit the ground with a thud, felt a sharp point on her back and something crack in her body. Her two friends had gone over to her to help her up.

“That should teach you to shut up about your stories.”

“Please, just-- We’ll go back now,” said one of the two, who was helping to hold up Agatha with the other.

Agatha didn’t process any of it anymore. She remained silent and looked over at the fire, which was quickly burning the pages of what she had left of her father. It was too late to save any of it. She was in a sort of trance, attentive to the brightness of the flames, unable to fully register the faces around her, the talking of her friends and the older girl, who just burned to pieces her history.

“Sweet dreams.” the girl laughed as she turned to walk away. The sound snapped Agatha out of her state, and she broke free from her friends’ hold and attacked her.

She didn’t know how—or how quickly--they had ended up there, but soon they were both on the ground by the fire, and Agatha hit her over and over again with strong blows to her neck and face. The other girl might’ve been older than her, but she couldn’t compete with Agatha’s quick violence, her fury, her decisiveness in the moment to release as much rage as possible.

“Agatha, stop.” She felt her friends desperately try to pull her back. “That’s enough.”

She looked at the fire once more and looked back at the girl underneath her. She chuckled when she saw blood coming from Millie’s nose and mouth. A reminder. _Millie._ That was the name. She felt her fangs retract at the sight—This was new--obviously not what happened back then, but somehow, her mind was adding it to the scenario. She continued to strike the girl’s face. Felt her struggle. Hard blows.

“Agatha, please stop it.”

Her friends finally managed to pull her away. Millie was unconscious.

“ _Agatha, say your prayers_ ,” she heard the voice of her father say.

Another memory. Sitting in a room, across a nun. She hadn’t ever seen one before then. She ignored her mostly, sketching away on her notebook with charcoal, as the nun spoke about the events of that night.

“Self-control.”

“What?”

“Self-control is necessary,” she asserted. “Do you regret what you did to Millie?”

Her voice was just as if she heard it yesterday.

“Yes.”

“Elaborate on that.”

“I regret I didn’t break more bones.”

“Dear, you shouldn’t say that-.”

To this, Agatha dropped her notebook and charcoal down on the table before them, harsher than she intended to.

“I will not lie. I don’t regret anything. She broke my nose on my first day, she taunts and steals from my friends, and that night she burned my things, my father’s things.”

Agatha sighed heavily, unsure if she was sad or frustrated.

“That is all I brought here. That’s all I had from him. How am I supposed to remember his handwriting? What if I forget, or…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

In an unexpected gesture, the nun reached out to her and held her hands gently. It was the most compassion she had been shown in years, and it took her aback. Agatha swallowed hard and looked away, ashamed of herself for getting emotional in front of her.

“I’m sorry that you have been dealt these cards. I promise you, learning to control your emotions will only help you to better handle your dealings.”

Agatha was unsure how that would help. This place was Godless, with or without Millie. And she couldn’t control that, or how she felt.

“God is always listening to us, even more to those who need healing. I would like to suggest you read the Bible. Do you have one?”

She did. She had nearly forgotten about it.

“Yes, that’s the only other thing I brought here.”

“Please read some of it. Will you do that for me?” she squeezed Agatha’s hands gently and smiled at her.

Her father was always religious himself, trying to teach her equally the darker subjects he knew of and studied, along with the Bible he loved. It was a balance she assumed he tried to instill in her. However, Agatha had trouble staying dedicated to her Bible readings ( _something her father always brought up_ ), much less her prayers, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had touched the book.

“Please, dear.”

Agatha only nodded.

“If you don’t mind me saying so,” the nun continued. “It is necessary, I think, that you make a change…I believe we will meet again. Remember to read tonight. I will pray for you.”

When she went back to her room, she opened her Bible, which had been accumulating dust over the past year or so she had been at the orphanage. Agatha had never noticed until that day that there was writing on one of the first few pages.

_For my Agatha, if she remembers to do her reading about something other than vampires:_

_Psalms 34: 17-22_

She placed her fingers on his writing, feeling the traces of it under her skin, and broke into a small smile.

 _“Agatha, remember your prayers.”_ She heard her father again.

Her scenery changed. She didn’t see it but she sensed it. Agatha was again back in her room at the convent, kneeling beside her bed. She found herself praying. ****

“Glory be to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit;  
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,  
World without end.

 _Amen_.”

At the last word she heard the vampire’s voice with hers, slight panic in her rising on instinctual reaction to him. She opened her eyes and stood up as she saw him in the corner of the room, as if he had been waiting for her. She had managed to block him out for some time now, but it wasn’t always effective—especially when she was asleep.

“Hello,” he smiled. “Finally, we’re alone.”

She wished he hadn’t come here. Her dreaming, reliving of her memories had been enough for one night to have to deal with Dracula now.

“Amazing observation. However, it’s not the time for this,” she said abruptly. “Now, see your way out,” she motioned to the door, hoping it would drive him out of her mind if he simply walked on out of there.

  
“Ah, but your _increasingly_ irritating Detective continues to interrupt us,” he continued. “I wonder if you would say the same thing to him. I don’t think you would, would you?”

She briefly remembered her dream with the Detective, which the vampire himself had been a part of in some way. Why something like that popped into her head at that moment, she wasn’t sure--But her mind was obviously not at its best place today.

Now instead of the Detective it was Dracula standing in her room, the same immortal whose voice seemed to distract her in her best and most inappropriate dreams, and who was becoming increasingly entangled with all of them.

“I believe it was my turn, if you recall,” he said, stepping towards her.

“Your turn?”

“Yes, my turn to ask.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, remembering what he was on about. Their deal. “Go on then. I need to get back to sleeping. Dreaming. Normal dreaming, that is.” Though she wasn’t sure what was the better option at the moment.

“Dreaming is never normal, is it?”

“No, I suppose not. There’s your question and my answer.”

“Very clever, but don’t try to cheat me out of what we agreed to.”

“I didn’t. A question for a question. You didn’t state any terms or conditions.”

“Now, Agatha. Don’t play dirty.”

“I thought that’s how you liked it.”

He laughed, earning him a smirk from her for the first time today.

“Sometimes, admittedly.”

“Alright, fine,” she sighed, and crossed her arms. “I’ll allow it. Go on and ask your question.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, noticing she was tenser than usual. Her mind was strong at work, still recovering from her dreaming, he knew that much. Dracula stepped closer to her, unsure why he even did so. Sometimes he didn’t catch himself even bringing himself closer to her until it had already happened.

“You’re all wound up. Just like when you warned Mina not to let her Jon in the circle.”

“I’m tired of dreaming I suppose.”

“Dreams are supposed to be where we escape.”

“Well, that isn’t always the case.”

“Haunted by your memories?”

“Aren’t you?”

He smiled a bit before answering.

“Why don’t we try something?” he said, and he could see she at least considered his words.

“Try what?”

“A change of scenery. Close your eyes.”


	14. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dracula and Agatha bonding as they question each other. [Calm Dragatha, no Stefan. Aren’t things going so well?]

Agatha opened her eyes when she heard the rolling of the waves, felt the salty air. She looked at the ocean before them, under the night sky, the water rolling in gently.

“How are we here—?” she said under her breath, completely perplexed.

She looked over at the Count, who was obviously pleased with himself. She was still slightly disoriented at the change of setting, something that did not seem to affect him at all. He was truly superior at twisting dreams and immersing them in such vivid realities.

“I wasn’t sure that would work, but here we are. Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is…I imagine it’s even more beautiful in the daytime.” she said, still fully taking in her surroundings.

Dracula gave her a moment to adjust and looked at her curiously before asking his question.

“How did you survive, Agatha? Do you recall how you got to shore that night?” His voice was gentle, as it had been for a while when they had spoken before their last moments on the ship.

Agatha looked at the sand under her again, foam from the waves edging in closer. No. She didn’t remember. In her mind, this was the first time ever having seen the seashore at all. She thought it over.

“I don’t recall. The last thing I remember is that,” she pointed upwards. “The night sky.”

“Oh,” he said. “I thought if I brought you here, you might recall _something_.”

“I don’t, unfortunately.”

Agatha did wish she remembered more. She touched the sand where the water met. It was rougher than she imagined it being. The water was cold, she felt it for a moment while she still could.

“So, now that that’s answered...Why did you kill Jonathan? You made it all the way to Hungary and killed the person you sought. It doesn’t exactly make sense.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose I was in the heat of the moment.”

“Of course. Ever so impulsive.”

“My plans changed after you and your nuns at the gate. I wanted to get to them, to Mina, and to you. My finest bride yet. Even capable of touching the sunshine still…”

“Please refrain from calling me one of your brides.”

“You’re right, I do think I should have proposed properly,” he smirked.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wouldn’t want such a thing from anyone as yourself,” she said.

“Oh. So you _would_ like a proposal from _someone_ then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Dracula was silent for a moment.

“What was it like, when you were dying?” he asked suddenly.

She thought over the question. The memory of it was a brief one, and she had been prepared for death that night. She could see the sky, the feeling of the water pulling her in…

“More peaceful than I imagined…But, as you’ve told me once, you should find out for yourself.”

She smirked at him as she sat down on the sand. She noticed the Count was as observant as ever. A natural predatory habit, watching her every move, she thought. She wondered if he was always like this, a natural hunter, evil under what could be described as an undeniably beautiful façade.

“As we were speaking of proposals earlier, I have my next question. Were you ever married?” she asked, though it was not something she had previously considered. She had always been interested in his vampirism, never much thought of his mortality.

“Yes, I was,” he said, rather excitedly. “She _is_ dead in case you’re wondering. One of my first.”

Dracula looked over at her horrified expression, and he laughed.

“I couldn’t resist. She had several wonderful qualities, which I absorbed. One of which--She played the piano beautifully. I was already quite good at that, but she perfected my skill.”

“So, you killed your wife because you wanted to improve your musical skills?”

“That, and uh…” he pointed to his hair. “The greys were coming in.”

She scoffed.

“Awfully vain of you.”

“It was too easy. I hadn’t fed in a while and she was literally in bed with me every night…” he laughed again. “I was terribly messy and inexperienced with her, unintentionally almost ripped out her throat. It took me some time to perfect my methods.”

“I can imagine, excitable as you are. Like a child,” she said. She could see the image in her head already. The poor woman, she hoped, had a quick death. “You obviously didn’t care for her, so why were you married, then?”

“It was merely a convenient arrangement in my youth.”

“Convenient arrangements seem to come into play with everyone, don’t they,” she said. “You’ve never had a conscience…That’s where much of your power lies, one might say,” she said, hands digging into the feel of the sand.

“ _Maybe._ ”

It was a bit of a blur after that.

Somehow, as time progressed Agatha found herself in his castle. They were playing chess again, as they had been what now seemed like ages ago. With time and conversation Dracula could see Agatha was becoming much more relaxed than she was when he had visited her earlier that day. She needed the distraction, that much was obvious, and he was interested, willing to give that to her.

She drank a sip of the wine, as he placed the last piece needed to end their game. Agatha remained speechless for a moment, frowning as she looked upon the board. As usual, she didn’t realize when—or how—she got there. The Count gazed at her, admiring her bemused expression.

“How did you even—” She almost sighed in frustration.

“Don’t worry. We have all eternity for you to try and win. And I have every faith in you, Agatha,” he smiled sweetly.

“An eternity? That is an awfully long time.”

“You don’t want an eternity?”

She went to serve herself more wine, and then to casually sit on the table beside the chess board, trying to figure out how he had won in the first place. She was at least in a more comfortable state, he noted.

 _I can’t imagine how anyone would,_ she thought.

“Is that your question?” she asked.

“No,” he looked down at the chess pieces before them. Oddly, he felt intimidated by her in ways he couldn’t decipher. He supposed it had to do with their bond, something he was obviously inclined to feed for one reason or another. She was his bride, after all.

“I already know what you’d answer,” he smiled, folding his hands on the table. “So I’ll ask something else.”

“I’m not that interesting, I assure you,” she joked.

“You interest me.”

“Blood interests you.”

“Blood satiates me. The soul interests me.”

As she pondered the thought, he brought up his question.

“What happened to the other Van Helsings, Agatha? How did you end up at the orphanage?”

Agatha was unnerved. How much did he know from her blood, how much he had seen of her dreams, she wasn’t sure. But it was intimidating. More intimidating than his bite, than his murder—the knowing, the way he was peeling through her layers whether it be through her dreams or even the slightest closeness. She regretted in that moment even sitting so near to him. Agatha had been so keen to look into his own mind she admittedly was careless when it came to him observing hers.

“I’m not sure there are other Van Helsings,” she answered regardless. “After my father passed, I didn’t have anyone left. I did a lot of thieving and survived on my own before I was found out and sent off there.”

“Oh,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “And then you joined the convent after that.”

He knew there was, of course, more to the story, but she was understandably cautious with her answers. She had never been as eager to make conversation, though he was slowly trying to change that.

She drank another sip of the wine.

“That was the order of events, yes. Now about _you…”_ she said, as she thought of her question. **“** What happened to your bloodline?”

“Well, I come from a very noble family. Leaders, conquerors, intellects…”

“Oh, I can tell. You play your part well. But you didn’t answer the question.”

“War and healthy competition happened to them,” he elaborated. “I’m the only one left of my bloodline.”

“Hm. The survivor.”

Agatha was now putting the pieces back to their original places on the board, interested in improving her tactics.

“It would’ve been nice to have met you earlier, Agatha,” he smiled, a brief flash of his sharp teeth which always caught her attention.

“That doesn’t sound like it would’ve been the best idea,” she asserted after the brief distraction. She had finished setting up the chess board again and was observing the pawns with great focus. Focus—something she was very good at, though he caught her slipping up last time.

“How did you manage to leave our last conversation so abruptly, Agatha?”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, it was the Detective.”

He raised his eyebrows and she caught the look in his eyes, seemingly seeking out more information.

“He physically woke me,” she answered.

“ _Physically woke you…_ ” he said, and he sounded like he was mocking her vague statement.

“Yes…” She felt him glaring at her again, and she sighed.

“My goodness, do you like to dig. He kissed me.”

“… _I see_ ,” he said simply. Agatha had half expected Dracula to comment on it or mock her in some say, but he didn’t. He only watched her as she finished the glass of wine.

“How long have I been here?” It occurred to her that this wasn’t normal, and she shouldn’t really be spending this much time in her head with a vampire. Time slipping away, as always.

“Longer than the usual,” he said. “Now, before you blame me, I’m quite certain it is both our faults.”

“What do you see from me?” she asked, the question coming to her suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

“I know of course that you see visions of mine, just like I see yours. What exactly have you seen?”

He answered more openly than she thought he would.

“Fragments of your memories and dreams. It is more vivid than what I acquire when drinking blood,” Dracula stood up, now looming over her again.

“Tonight, I saw you by the fire. Charcoal on your hands. I felt your relief. I feel your faith. I feel…” he thought of the words, but for once he had trouble explaining them, which Agatha was surprised to see. “There is just more feeling, of course. I sense that mostly when we touch. Do you understand?”

He could almost touch her, and he felt the urge to, as he always did whenever they connected. He craved more knowledge, a deeper connection maybe. It felt natural to, although she had already seen enough of him as it was. She had already deciphered, he knew, his once existent mortality.

She placed a hand on his arm, catching him off guard completely.

“I think I do,” she said, thinking over his words. Something told her to reach out, learn more, feel more, even. She didn’t exactly realize at first that she had even reached out to touch him, until she already had and emotions seemed to compel her to continue. She pulled back her hand almost immediately, knowing this was more than enough for the night. He seemed to read her thoughts.

“You’d like to wake up,” he said.

“Yes, it’s about time I shook you off, for a moment at least.”

“You’re hard to shake off yourself,” he joked before continuing, sensing a struggle coming from her. “You’re having trouble waking.”

Before she answered, he spoke, disturbing her thoughts and focus, once again.

“Maybe I can help. If you want to leave, I’ll take you back.”

“What do you mean?”

“To your bedroom. You’ll find it easier to wake up then, I promise,” he smiled. “Help me take you there.”

“Why?” she asked, as he moved in closer to her.

“Don’t worry, Agatha.” As she locked eyes with him, she felt frightened. Helpless and surrendering to whatever he told her. It must have had something to do with him being a vampire, the way he could persuade people. “Focus, like you always do. Help me take you there.”

She did as he said. It was a strange notion on his part, and she knew there must be some kind of ill intent behind it, but before she could break any connection or pull back he reached to her and picked her up as he would a bride. Her surroundings immediately changed, and he placed her down on her own bed.

“It looks like we’ve both overslept. Tell me what the sun looks like next time.”

And in an instant, he was gone.


	15. Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: An “illuminating” conversation. Also-Agatha describes the daylight to Dracula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tender Dragatha - sort of.

At some point, as the dawns and dusks passed her by, Agatha no longer knew who was accessing who anymore. It simply became their own world, outside of reality. Their own dreams became regular, even welcoming ones though Agatha hated to admit it. Conversations with the Count were always insightful, He was sometimes—often—good company.

She had to keep in mind what he was, and what she’d seen him do, to keep her thoughts of him true to his evil.

She found herself in the same silk sheets she had awoken in so many nights ago when these dreams first began… She saw Dracula seated by the fire, reading poetry—one same book she had remembered reading often in her youth.

“Poetry?...I would not have imagined it would be your choice of literature.”

He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled softly.

“It isn’t. It seems I’ve become curious about the subject. You know the book, don’t you?”

She didn’t say anything; he already knew the answer.

“Given that your blood flows through me, I am not entirely surprised it’s having such an ill effect,” he mused.

“Ah. It appears I’m a good influence on you then,” Agatha smiled. “I remember reading The Human Seasons as a child. You are the lusty spring, no doubt.”

“And which are you?”

“All four, considering I’ve held on to my humanity.”

She observed the cracked walls, the now familiar room as she sat up comfortably.

“You like this home.” she said. “Though you’re not there, your mind takes you to Transylvania.”

“I like the history. And this one has a lot of it. A home cannot be made habitable in a day after all.”

“I see…I suppose that is a good point.”

He placed the book down on the nightstand near her. “Tell me Agatha, have you felt anything from me?” he asked curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Any other…influence, I suppose…?” he continued.

“Influence from you? You have to ask that? I’m lying in your bed inside your castle.”

“Yes, that’s a first for me. I’ve never had a nun on any of my beds,” he smiled, that devilish smile which had no doubt lured many people in.

“I suppose there’s always room for new experiences. Besides that, Agatha,” he said, slowly approaching her.

“What else would I feel?” she said, as she propped herself up on one elbow and eyed him.

“I’m not sure. But given that my blood is more than likely the reason all this is going on, it’s very interesting--”

“Your blood?” she interrupted. “What does your blood have to do with it?”

“Ah, well, I suppose I _did_ forget to mention that part...”

“Mention what exactly?” she began to raise her voice, her accent making the words come out sharp like knives. But Dracula seemed nonchalant to the sound.

“Well,” he faced away from her as he articulated the words. “I have a bit of a confession. I fed you my blood at one point or another.”

“At one point or another?—On the Demeter?... Why on Earth did you do that?!” she almost shouted, hastily leaving the bed and stepping towards him, in a rage already. But she held herself together long enough for him to answer her question.

“I didn’t give you much, I promise,” he smiled. “It was--You were weakening--” he said, appearing to be overthinking his choice of words.

“And you are disgusting,” she interrupted.

He frowned a bit before continuing, almost showing offense at her sudden statement.

“It was just an experiment of sorts. Same as you like to play with me…” he said, walking towards her. “Let’s just say it was my way of making you last.”

“So you’ve poisoned me with your blood. Repulsive, but not surprising in the least.”

“Agatha, you might’ve been—what’s the word? Oh yes— _dead_ right now,” he said quite dramatically. “If it weren’t for my blood. I do believe it… _empowered_ you.”

“I suppose I should thank you then?” She scoffed at his remarks, the demented workings of his mind. “You are twisted.”

“Probably. Either way, you’re welcome.”

She did recognize that if his blood truly was empowering in some way, it was almost like a miracle, though completely unnatural and more than likely not God-sent at all. Impressive, nevertheless. And even more strange was the nature of it, that created such a bond between prey and predator.

“So you had my blood, and I had yours. Of course, that has to be why we’re so…entwined.”

“That’s the winning theory.”

He could see she stumbled upon a question. He could read her by now; could almost see the thoughts, the curiosities, crossing her mind.

“Well,” she said, raising her arms in defeat “.…At least tell me what else you’ve discovered, then,” she said.

“The same as you. The visions, the dreams, the feelings…and the empowered bride,” he smiled.

She ignored his last statement, thinking, hoping that there must be solution to the chaos he had created.

“Do you think is there a way to end this…’connection’ somehow?”

“I’m not sure…Seeing as I’ve never actually fed anyone my blood before. If there is a way, we haven’t discovered it yet.”

Strangely, Agatha felt something was…out of place. Like he was hiding _something_.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Why would you think I would be keeping anything else from you?” he said softly.

“I know you better now.”

“Yes, you do know me well, don’t you,” he said after a pause.

“Yes…You know, your blood would be interesting to study,” she said. “I suppose I will look into that after I kill you,” she said.

“Very sweet of you, Agatha. As always…Now, since I _do_ believe I did you a favor, would you mind doing one for me?” he asked.

“You seem to have a very distorted view of a favor…” she sighed, as she crossed her arms over her chest. “What exactly do you want?” she questioned.

“The sunlight, I know you can touch it. Feel it. Can you describe to me how it looks? The sun—She should be dawning as we speak.”

That same romantic notion of the sunlight that Jonathan had spoke to her about, still pulling at him.

“Fine. Sounds simple enough, so I suppose I will indulge you.” she said, deciding to entertain the situation for no particular reason.

Dracula walked with Agatha up a long, narrow staircase which led to a tower, the same one she imagined Jonathan had been to on his last day here.

It was a wide and open space, and she walked past the Count out from the shadows to the sunlight. It truly a colorful, beautifully blossoming day, and almost no clouds were in the sky.

Dracula remained bathed in the darkness, observing only the little light he could. He noted that Agatha, in her nun attire and all, looked especially angelic with the yellowing glow of the coming dawn illuminating her. If there was a God, he thought, there was no doubt He was mocking him, teasing him with the vision of something he could never really touch or attain.

“Well, it is definitely,” she decided to cut the description short “starting to get very hot out here. I suppose it looks and feels like when I set you on fire,” she joked as she looked back to the vampire, who was watching her and smirking from his comfortable shadows. "Yes, that’s how I would describe it…”

“Very introspective as always, Agatha” he added. “I haven’t felt the true warmth of it in ages.”

She placed a hand over her forehead and frowned as she looked to the sky, truly trying to find the best way to explain it further.

“Well, the sun. Let’s see…” she muttered to herself. She closed her eyes and sought to bathe herself in the sunlight, appreciating it, hoping the right words would come. The sun did feel especially good this morning.

“It is bright, strong, and warm. Like stepping into happiness,” she smiled. Yes, that was a good way to put it. But the sun, she thought, was really something to be felt.

An idea occurred to her. She stayed in the sun a few moments more, allowing its rays to penetrate her skin further, leaving her feeling warm, and giddy, even. Taking one more breath of fresh air, she turned back to Dracula and allowed herself to be immersed back into the shadows, in the great tower that seemed to desperately want to separate her from the outdoors.

Still feeling the sun on herself, she decided it would be best to show him. She would continue to entertain the situation, interested in how he would react. He was right, she thought—About the playing, the experimenting--she did the same to him, to a certain extent, even if it wasn’t always the best idea.

“Here,” she quickly took his hands when she was in front of him, and for a moment he looked alarmed, at which she was amused to no end. She laughed lightly.

“Trust me. Put your hands in my hair.” It was what was warmest, still fresh from daylight. Her head even still felt hot. She guided his hands near her face and he did as she asked, momentarily and gently running his thumbs on her cheeks before he moved his fingers to her brown locks, and smoothed them out. She smiled as she saw the moment he instantly became aware of the heat of the daylight on her. He seemed wildly enraptured by it and smiled as he locked eyes with her. If she had known nothing of him, if she had been completely unaware of his inherent evil, his face at the moment would’ve been the sweetest one she had seen. It was truly maddening, the contradiction of nature, and how it held her.

He ran his fingers through her locks to her shoulders and down her back slowly, appreciating the minuscule daylight she had offered him, which in the moment felt like an overindulgence she had carelessly, and needlessly, provided him. She realized that was _exactly_ what it was. An overindulgence for them both.

Agatha felt even more warmth pool from her, whether from the closeness of him or the daylight she had just encountered, she wasn’t sure, but the Count certainly was wide-eyed and serious as his hands trailed her back, gaze on his touches on her body.

“Do you see?”

“Yes,” he whispered, and he truly sounded…light. Happy. She was surprised when he stopped at her lower back but didn’t exactly let go.

“What is it like?”

“Exactly as you described. Strong, warm. Like stepping into happiness.”

Dracula’s lighter, calmer tone was strange, unfamiliar to her. He smiled widely, and his mouth, as usual, distracted and allured her. His face in his currently relaxed state had the effect of making him appear even more youthful than the blood he fed on already did.

The proximity was becoming all too much for her, so she turned her face away from him. Agatha felt him lean into her slightly as if by instinct, drawn once more as any beast like him would be, to the sight of her neck. But Dracula let her go as she stepped away.

“Well, I’m glad I could be…illuminating,” she joked, inwardly laughing at her own pun. He chuckled at that and she smiled, with one last look at her enemy, who often felt like more of a friend.

She heard her Sisters from afar knocking on her door, and Agatha felt herself on the verge of waking up. She had fallen asleep at the desk in her study, and soon awoke with the daylight still on her skin.


	16. Paralysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragatha cotton candy. Because it’s fluffy and sweet. [DO NOT read end chapter notes yet :]

A small voice made its way through her room. It was barely audible, like faint static, or the small ringing in the ears that seems to come and go when trying to fall asleep. Still, it was almost haunting; a familiar, but lost sound she could not hear quite well enough to properly recognize.

It was when the voice became clearer to her as a song that she realized she was back in her old home. The room was dark, but she knew it was her own room from a long time ago. She saw a figure a distance in front of her, facing the open door and hallway.

Agatha sat up slowly on the bed, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. She now recognized the nursery rhyme, as the figure rocked back and forth, holding on to something—or someone, as she sang, completely oblivious to her. The scene was strange, like the image of a ghost who did not recognize her presence at all, standing there.

“Mother…” she whispered mostly to herself, as she tilted her head in her own sleepy confusion. Agatha felt nothing at all—no fear, no sadness—She was detached, if only a little curious.

Agatha observed the figure of her stop moving at her voice, but it was only for a moment. She continued her soft singing, seemingly not recognizing her daughter at all. Also, very faintly, Agatha heard the soft cries of the child her mother was holding. When she fully registered the new sound, something changed, as if a certain memory or worry had clicked into Agatha’s mind, and she felt panicked, a crushing fear overtaking her.

“Mother,” she groaned a little, feeling sick. “Please look at me.”

Agatha reached out, as she leaned forward in her bed, but she felt a lack of strength to go to her. A horrible paralysis keeping her in her place, though she wanted to go to her, to stop the scene from unfolding further—whatever it was. But her mother didn’t turn to her.

As she looked around her, it dawned at her how ridiculous this was. It was only a dream, and not a fragment of reality, not even a memory, at least not one she knew of. Agatha took a deep breath, focusing on her desire to get back to her reality, her convent, her room, her calmness and happiness—whatever _that_ was. Away from this. She tried her best to block out the noise and rushed through the prayers her father had so many times before told her to say every night, to try and disconnect from this false reality. She murmured the words over and over. She thought she felt someone touch her.

“…But deliver us from-”

“Evil?”

Agatha looked up at the vampire, his presence not even the least bit surprising anymore. She observed her surroundings. Back to normal.

“Or so I hoped. I hate it when you do that,” she said. Although she realized she felt strangely relieved by his being there. Even more so, she felt relieved she was at least able to manipulate her dreams enough to go back to where she felt safe—somewhat safe at least.

“Everything alright?” he said, knowing very well she was startled, anxious.

She wasn’t sure what to answer. Part of her wanted to disclose everything to him, to speak without filters. She often did, but she knew it was something she had to be careful with. The closeness.

“I’m fine,” she answered. It seemed to suffice.

“Well, I do apologize for the interruption. But it’s nice to see you, as _always_ ,” he said, rather jovially. He stammered a bit as he stepped slightly forward near her bed. His hands were in his pockets, and she noticed his eyes were tired, and he was strangely uncoordinated.

She tilted her head in amusement.

“Have you been drinking?” she said. “Well, alcohol, I mean, of course. I thought you didn’t drink wine.”

“No, no, no, not wine…” he said quickly. “I needed to… _reintroduce_ some German into my system. So, I had a treat...and well…he happened to be intoxicated.”

“…And that in turn affects you. That is highly amusing,” she smiled.

He chuckled, swaying a bit on his feet. He looked perfectly harmless at the moment. Agatha decided to try her luck, and question him a bit.

“So, where did you find the poor man?”

After all, it could be a clue, and she could inform Stefan about it. He answered her quickly.

“A bar nearby…What’s it called…Oh yes,” he snapped his fingers. “The Cross, that’s it.”

“How appropriately ironic.”

She watched his eyes narrow as his face slowly registered what she had just said, and after a few moments he burst into laughter.

“You’re funny.” His face was slightly reddened from his recent feed, and no doubt the warmth of whatever alcohol was in his system.

“Now, I need to lie down for a moment,” he said, slurring his words before actually going to the bed to lay next to her. She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his actions.

“By all means, go right ahead,” she said sarcastically. “Take some blankets as well.”

“Oh, no thank you. I will do without any of those,” he said as he made himself comfortable and relaxed back on the bed. There was more than enough space between them, but Agatha put her hands on the center of her chest on instinct, knowing her crucifix was there. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Are you really alright?” he said, drawing out his words. “I mean…about your dream, just now.”

“You saw that?”

“A little.”

She sighed, deciding on an open admission.

“I don’t quite understand it. I worry I’ve forgotten certain things. Blocked out memories.”

“Whatever the case may be,” he said. “It’s important to look to the future, Agatha.”

It was a positive way to look at things, she supposed. But that was easier said than done.

“You know Agatha, I think you are my friend. My only friend, really.”

“If your only friend is someone who set you on fire…Maybe you should stop eating your friends.”

Dracula laughed again at her remark, tired and giddy at everything she said. She liked him in this state.

Agatha turned on her side to look at him. His hands were folded on his chest. He looked incredibly peaceful, eyes closed, though she knew him awake, could even sense his thoughts stirring. She slid an arm under her pillow and was surprised to feel the wooden stake there. Somehow, she had been able to bring more from her reality to her dreams. She gripped the weapon tightly, as her other hand rested on the mattress.

“I should kill you,” she said softly, mostly to herself. The words came out before she could really stop them.

“I do admit, if someone is going to put a stake through my heart, I hope it’d be you,” he smiled.

After a few moments, he spoke again.

“There is truth in our touch, isn’t there.”

“Yes, it would seem so.”

“Agatha, I have something I should tell you,” he sighed heavily. “And I want you to know that it’s true.”

He then reached to her hand there on the mattress, and though she was taken aback at the contact, she didn’t move away.

“Otherwise you’ll think I’m lying.”

She hoped this was important; it seemed to be, if he was so willing to offer her his closeness, his vulnerability.

She loosened her grip on the weapon she held in her other hand.

“…Alright. Go on, then.”

When he didn’t respond, she leaned over to him. It appeared he had fallen asleep instantly—strangely enough, the alcohol in his system seemed to have impacted his awareness even in his dreams. She wasn’t sure if she should ‘wake’ him—or, well, stake him—so she decided on neither. She began to feel even more tired in her own dreaming now as well and moved back to rest her head on her pillow again.

“I think I will pray for you,” she said.

Her words seemed to stir him awake, if only for a moment. He squeezed her hand softly; Agatha not realizing until then that he still held it.

“Sweet. And highly disturbing. Please don’t,” he chuckled lightly. His voice was soft, and he was slurring his syllables again, much to her amusement.

“If I don’t pray for you, who will?”

She couldn’t bring herself to wake him again to inquire on what he was going to say. She was sure they’d meet again, anyway. She didn’t realize what finally awoke her that day, or how her dreaming even ended. But she felt she had slept better than ever. She was completely rejuvenated, and not hungry at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope tender Dragatha was enjoyed.  
> because all hell is about to break loose lmao


	17. The V Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Detective visits Agatha, and the other Sisters reveal something surprising going on in the convent.

“Have you spoken to your Sisters?”

“About…?”

“Well, the “V” word.”

“Vampires.” She laughed.

“I promise you, Detective. We won’t summon one,” she continued. “Yes. Although, many of them don’t take me very seriously. They are far more skeptic here in England, I am afraid. Progress can also mean ignorance.”

“I suppose it can,” he sighed. “Well…”

He placed a stake down on the table in front of her. Agatha raised her eyebrows as she noted it was stained with blood.

“They are here,” he said. “You must be careful-“

“You killed one?” she smiled.

“Two,” he smirked. “They were in the forest nearby the school here. Seen by some of the children…”

“And looking for their master, no doubt…How many more are there?”

“I’m not sure yet….Agatha, they didn’t look human at all.”

“Only his main…‘brides’ as he calls them, look human. The rest are merely experiments of his. Failed attempts at reproduction.”

“Reproduction…”

“In his own way.”

“So, you are his bride. A successful creation…” he pondered.

“He is not my creator,” she said. The comment caught her off guard, disturbed her.

“I’m sorry, I meant to say…”

“That he was successful at passing on his vampiric characteristics. I know what you meant,” she said. “Don’t worry. Really.”

Stefan opted on changing the subject. It hadn’t been her choice, and she was quite calmly facing the curse that had been brought upon her, along with her very vivid dreaming.

“The Count,” he said, “He does look completely human then, doesn’t he?”

“From top to bottom, yes,” she said, taking a sip of water. He was drinking wine. “He has retained his human qualities. Physically and mentally so. You will only notice a difference when he senses blood. Keep that in mind as you go on with your chase.”

“Hm. I will,” he said. “I’ll look into the location you told me of, and with that I believe I can narrow it down further. Thank you for all the information, as always. Though I do suggest you dream a little lighter from time to time,” he smiled.

“Of course,” she said. But Agatha was worried for him, someone who had become such a close friend, someone who had lost his wife so long ago to such a creature as a vampire and possibly—highly likely—Dracula himself.

“Perhaps I can go with you.”

“Agatha, I need you to be safe.”

“What exactly is your plan? You find Count Dracula, and what then? He is different from the other monsters, much more calculated.”

“Don’t worry and take care of yourself. Leave this to me. I will ensure that no harm befalls you or your Sisters…” he insisted.

Suddenly the door opened abruptly. Agatha looked upon the worried face of one of her Sisters.

“Sister Agatha,” interrupted Lily, stepping into the room. “We need you in the infirmary.”

Agatha and Stefan looked at one another. They had rarely ever been interrupted, and Sister Lily looked alarmed.

“Detective, you may come too,” said Lily. “I think you’ll be interested in what we have to show you.”

Agatha stood up, but the Detective stayed seated, confused as to what was so urgent that even he was invited into the rest of convent.

“Hurry along,” said Lily, rushing him. “We must sneak you in without too many of the others noticing. Mother Superior will send us all to hell herself if we get caught.”

“Why?” asked the Detective, hurrying behind them as they walked towards the infirmary.

“You are a highly attractive male. A highly disturbing combination for us here at the convent,” said Agatha, walking ahead of him.

“Well, thank you.”

When they entered the infirmary, Maria and Florence were waiting with one of the other Sisters, who was splayed out on a bed. She looked pale, sick, almost like a corpse. But her eyes fluttered open when she heard Agatha and the others enter the room.

“What’s wrong with her?” whispered Agatha to Lily.

“You’ll see.”

Agatha looked at Maria and Florence to make sure it was alright to proceed before approaching the sickly woman.

“Sister Emily, How are you feeling?”

She wheezed as she attempted to speak, alarming Agatha, who realized she was worse off than she even appeared.

“I feel,” she staggered her words. “Like death.”

Agatha, with her heightened vampire senses could smell her life slipping away, her unique flavor—correction, _scent_ —of blood, even. And she smelled the rotting of the soul—something the Count had mentioned before. As her Sister continued to breathe heavily, wheezing slightly, she turned her head to one side, and Agatha could see the marks on her, dark and nearly purple in color.

“Detective?” said Agatha softly, turning back to him. He was away from the bed, mindful about giving them their space.

“The V Word,” she said before she looked back to Sister Emily. Stefan approached nearer to the bed and looked upon the weakened nun, recognizing the bite marks.

“Could be one of his brides,” he whispered to Agatha. “They would have possibly gained entry.”

Agatha was determined to find out more. Though her Sisters didn’t all exactly take to her tales of vampires, she found it strange they would allow entry to a stranger nevertheless, and that the vampire would go seemingly unnoticed. They knew better.

“Did you invite anyone into the convent? Into your room?” Agatha asked the sick Sister.

Emily nodded a no in response, closing her eyes again, seemingly falling into a sleeping spell.

“So we don’t know who did this to her? Does she recall anything at all?” Agatha asked Maria.

A hundred possibilities passed through her mind. It could’ve been one of the vampires Stefan had mentioned. A ‘bride’, specifically. The bite was too precise and clean, not animalistic at all. One could have gained entry, as he said.

“We don’t know. She doesn’t remember,” said Maria. “But no one has invited _anyone_ inside the convent, to our knowledge at least. We’ve spoken to the others…As you already know, many of them aren’t even considering the possibility of a…vampire.”

Yes, Agatha had warned her Sisters many times before, but apparently it wasn’t enough.

“A vampire needs to be allowed inside. _Needs_ the invitation—Someone is to blame.” Agatha got to the necessary tasks at hand before she continued. “We need to get a blood transfusion started immediately. She is nearly drained. Maria, I’ll bring you clean blood similar to hers,” Agatha said.

Maria had medical experience, and she trusted her. And Agatha still had pouches of blood the Detective had brought her, as she tried her best to not indulge in them too often.

“How will we know if the blood is compatible with hers?” Maria asked.

“Maria, she can smell it obviously, she’s a, you know….” Florence said, raising her eyebrows and flashing her teeth.

Agatha was unamused at the exchange, and paid her attention back to the sickly nun.

“You have nothing else that you can tell us, Sister Emily?”

It was several seconds before she responded.

“No…I don’t—I don’t know…Sorry…”

”There is nothing to apologize for.”

“Am—” she coughed a bit. “Am I going to die?”

“…I can’t say. But I will do my best so that doesn’t happen,” she admitted. It hurt Agatha to say it, but she wasn’t going to lie to her, and there was the possibility she was indeed infected. Agatha smiled sadly, placing a hand on the nun’s forehead, which appeared to be burning up now.

Immediately at the touch, Emily gasped and her eyes shot open. Her hand snapped up to grab at Agatha’s wrist, as if her Sister’s touch had awakened her from a long state of sleep. She was suddenly alert now. It was such a sudden movement, a quick change, that it startled even Stefan and the other Sisters, who stepped back and held on each other. Agatha remained in place, curious as to how she emitted such a reaction from the nun.

“Dracula” she breathed it out, just barely.

His name on her Sister’s lips shook her to her core. She hadn’t divulged the name of the vampire to anyone except the Detective, having only mentioned ‘vampires’ to any of her Sisters.

“Dracula…” she said out loud. “Agatha, it was him. I know it now. You know him, don’t you? He has made you his wife.”


	18. Drained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha’s comes to a frightening realization, after seeing two of her sick Sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 chapters in 1 day...not sure if i should've done that but here ya go.

_“Dracula…” she said out loud. “Agatha, it was him. I know it now. You know him, don’t you? He has made you his wife.”_

Agatha turned to look at the others, who were startled and attentive to the sickly nun’s words. She did not say a thing, lest her words disturb the younger nun’s sudden epiphany.

“Tall, red eyes and…But I didn’t…I didn’t invite him in, I swear. It wasn’t me; he was already there,” she continued desperately, tears welling up as if her life depended on Agatha believing her.

Agatha sighed, her breath shaky and caught in her throat.

“Tell me anything else you remember.”

“Nothing. I swear it’s the truth, Sister Agatha, it wasn’t me. I remember what you told us all, what we didn’t believe-We believe you more than you think. But it wasn’t me. He was there...standing over me…and…”

The emotions of her newfound memories seemed to cut her like a knife, and Sister Emily was unable to say anymore, feeling weaker again by the second.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this earlier?” Agatha said, her words sharp and harsh as she looked at the others.

“She hadn’t said anything until now when you touched her. And we didn’t know until today about her condition. Mother Superior sought out my help when Emily started to get worse…,” said Maria. “I told her we would need your expertise in the area. It seems she hid it from us, probably thinking we would make up something ridiculous about it.”

“Well, now that the ridiculous is in progress, we can only attempt to reverse the damage.”

Agatha thought for a moment.

“Florence, go to my study, and retrieve the second pouch of blood from the cabinet. The same one which I retrieved blood from last time,” she said. She already memorized all the scents; it was a natural distinction. “The second pouch. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sister Agatha.”

“We must secure the convent, Agatha. Make it safe,” said Stefan. “And keep watch over her.”

“Yes.”

“There’s another,” said Lily finally. “Sister Alma; she’s in her bedroom. Much better off and still healthy, but she has the same marks. I’d like you to see her…Detective, why don’t you wait in the guest room, as you will no doubt be spotted if you try to go to one of our bedrooms.”

“Of course. Agatha, I’ll wait for you.”

Upon visiting Alma in her room, Agatha noticed she did appear healthy at first glance, rosy cheeks even. But upon closer inspection and speaking to the nun she noticed she looked to be slightly aged, and her speech was beginning to waver, as was her energy. Her soul beginning to be drained of her own self. Agatha could sense it, even smell it.

There were bright marks on Alma’s neck—as if fed from recently. Red centers, whitened skin around the marks. Alma insisted she didn’t remember anything, except a tall dark figure. She hadn’t invited anyone in the convent at all, only kept awakening with marks the past few nights this week.

As they walked out of the room, Agatha questioned Lily.

“If it’s him--”

“Count Dracula, you mean…”

“Yes—"

“You doubt it?”

“No, I—I don’t,” she wished she did. But Emily seemed so sure in her moment of clarity. And the Count would be clever enough to have gotten away with it for this long.

“He… _It,”_ she corrected, “Will be back for Sister Alma; as she has the freshest blood. We need to take precautions, remove Alma from her room and surround all bedrooms with pages from our Bible.”

“We are going to tear out pages from a Bible? But Agatha, that seems a bit wrong?”

“Lily,” said Agatha, growing frustrated. “Please trust me on this. I think God will forgive it given our circumstances.”

“…Ok, if it works. I will tell the others then…”

“We have to figure out who is inviting him in. And why.”

“But—it isn’t any of them, Agatha. I’m sure they can’t be lying about that.”

“Maybe they don’t remember. But we all lie sometimes. And Dracula is…persuasive,” she admitted.

“Well, consider for a moment the possibility that neither of the two are lying,” Lily said. “It could be someone else doing the inviting.”

“But no one else has been victimized?”

“Not to our knowledge…I would assume Mother Superior would have told us by now…You’re sure that it’s a fact?-- That a vampire would _need_ the invitation?”

“Yes. I’ve seen it…” she said, remembering her first night with the vampire. “He wouldn’t be able to come in without someone willingly allowing it….”

“Who would do such a thing?” Lily laughed nervously. “Who is next, if…”

Agatha sighed, trying to think as Lily continued talking, something she did a LOT of when anxious.

“No one would invite a…a man in here just like that…Nuns allowing a vampire into their beds, no less…That is…” Lily laughed again.

At her Sister’s words, an idea struck Agatha’s mind. A theory. It was urgent, clear, frightening. Something that sounded mad, but that made a complete sort of sense at least.

“Sister Agatha, what is it?”

“It’s me.”

“You?” she gasped. “You mean you’re the one doing the—the feed—”

“NO, no Lily, I _would_ have recalled that,” she insisted. “Slow down or Sister Florence might proceed to stake me. I mean to say I think I’ve been the one doing the inviting.”

“What?”

“I’ve think I’ve invited him in. I have allowed him to be here, after all.”

“How…? You mean when you’re…?

“Dreaming. Yes...It might give him the opportunity to come into the convent, at least for some time. My consent.”

“A window of opportunity,” said Lily. “Oh, Agatha…It’s definitely something to consider.”

“It’s clever,” Agatha admitted. “I invite him inside without the awareness it is even occurring…” she said. It was both insane and brilliant. Maddening. Agatha was…infuriated. For a brief moment there was silence. Lily could see Agatha processing her well-hidden emotions.

“What will we tell the Detective?”

“Nothing else, he is alarmed enough and determined to find Count Dracula, even more so after this, I’m sure. I have something else in mind.”

“So, what do we do?” asked Lily.

“What we should’ve done in the first place. We kill the vampire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - Dragatha meet (for real)


	19. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha is *hella* angry, and fights to protect her convent. Also: Agatha and Dracula finally meet and get into an argument. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read and have kept up with my story so far for the kudos, comments, and even just glancing at the story lol. Ily <3

The only room left untouched was Alma’s. It only had a few holy pages spread out on the other side of the door, a line he couldn’t cross, but he could still come into her room from the outside. The rest of the convent could no longer be touched by the Count if he sought out another victim. Agatha made sure of it. She was going to do something about this mess.

Agatha waited in Alma’s room, kept looking between the nightstand and the slightly opened window. The air was cool, soothing. She tried her best to stay awake, but with her irregular sleep schedule, it was proving rather difficult.

She knew her theory had to be correct. She was the only link to the vampire. But she sought confirmation of it. She had just dreamt of him, no doubt he would be coming for Alma again.

It was careless of her to think her dreams wouldn’t come back to haunt her, to think it harmless when he carried her to her bed, appeared so casually in the convent or in her own bedroom because she had somehow been thinking of him. Or him of her. Whatever it was. When he tried to help her get back to her own reality, she had permitted him to be there, and felt no consequence about what happened in a dream.

She had chances to pry more, do more, even to _kill_ him. End his pathetic, plaguing existence. Why hadn’t she? Had she grown to care for him-an _insane_ thought-or was it because he had infected her with the reluctance to do such a thing? His blood. His feelings mixing with hers. Their unnatural connection. Whatever it was, it was dangerous.

The fact that she had even allowed such a closeness and dabbled like that with darkness. It was as if she was spellbound.

There was suddenly a fog in the room, no noise of anyone entering at all, but she knew it—felt his presence. And he was there, clear as day, in the candlelight of the room.

She was not surprised to see him at all, she had prepared for this. Dracula, however seemed slightly stunned when he saw her. Agatha had made herself as nonthreatening as possible, wearing her nightgown as if she had just gotten up from bed. It’s not like he hadn’t seen her that way before, anyway. She fed him her blood on his knees like this. He had lied next to her, touched her, offered her a confession.

“Agatha…” he said softly, amusement in his tone. “It’s nice to see you…In the flesh. I almost think I’m dreaming.”

“Obviously, I can’t say the same.” she said, addressing both his statements. She stood up from her seat in the far corner of the room, watching him intently. “You will not find her here.”

He of course knew exactly what she meant.

“You’ve been feeding from my Sisters…”

“…I have,” he admitted. “It looks like you’ve caught me.”

“I’m only sorry it took me so long,” she said. “Tell me. You weren’t invited in by any of them, were you….”

“You know I wasn’t.” He gave her a small smile. Her heart sank as he said it.

“So it _is_ me, then. You’ve been using me to come to the convent and harm my Sisters,” she said, in her own amazement that he was able to do this. Agatha was, as always, impressed by the Count’s abilities, but angry, and betrayed. She wasn’t sure why. She had not expected any less from him.

“I must admit--You are… _rather_ difficult, and would never let me in _willingly_ …But with your mind, you invite me to your tasteful little coven here without even realizing it,” he said.

Agatha felt this had all been a manipulation from him, ever since she had woken up in England, to prey on her and her convent, her new home, potentially her new family. Dracula seemed to follow her around and destroy her world and everybody else’s. That was the reality of it.

She was silent, and if glares could kill, he would have run out of his worshiped immortality.

The Count’s expression seemed to sour, his usual domineering smile dropping for a split second. Agatha felt sick, disappointed with herself beyond belief for taking part in any sort of closeness with the vampire, when she knew very well she could’ve tried harder to help it.

“So you did this on purpose,” she said, coming to terms with it.

Dracula frowned at her, a bit confused, not exactly grasping the extent of her reaction.

“Us.” she clarified, though she regretted immediately even asking. The way it sounded was as if she were arguing with a lover. It was strange.

“Oh, well, wait a minute now. I didn’t do _this_ ,” he motioned between them, “On purpose. You’re just as easily swayed by our bond as I am, so I simply used it to my advantage...”

“How long have you been coming here, then?”

“Well I first realized it on…what’s that called? Oh, yes. Hallow’s Eve. I was able to go inside and wander around your precious convent that night. Because you brought me there…” he said, a small smirk playing on his face.

Agatha was speechless for a moment, and could only scoff, trying to calm herself a bit. She stood in place and he approached her slowly, cautiously. His figure became clearer in the candlelight as he did.

Dracula seemed to loom over her again, his darkness again overtaking the whole room even more so than in dreams. Agatha had always been the tallest at her convent—but his presence was one that often made her feel smaller, and in turn he appeared even larger, even taller, even more frightening than he would were he any other man.

Something to do with being a vampire. He was predatory even when his teeth were not at someone’s throat. The cloud of darkness he carried with him eating away at everything, consuming it all with evil.

Agatha was reminded of the way he looked at her back when she saved Mina. She worried tonight’s plan was all a bad idea. But it was too late to turn back now. She needed him closer.

“I’m here to feed, Agatha. I’m hungry,” he said, raising his dark eyebrows.

She could tell as much, the slight parting of his lips and the heavy breathing that came to him when he wanted something. As if she had just taken away a meal he had been waiting for, for ages. Though he looked well and healthy.

“It’s what I do,” he said simply.

“Oh, yes, I know exactly what you do. You destroy everything in your path.”

As he looked at her, Dracula felt that nagging urge to touch, something he had only ever used for his advantage, not his pleasure.

“What are you trying to do then? Contain me in this cage? The problem is…” he said darkly, “You’re in the cage with me.”

“Nowhere I haven’t been before. Besides, you are in no cage. Feel free to leave, at any time. Through the same window you sneaked in through. You are not welcome here.”

“Then why am I here? You’re my _lure_ , aren’t you?” he half smiled at her. “You take away my meal, leaving you in its place. What do _you_ intend to give me?”

“That is far from the point,” she said, annoyed. “If you think you can come in here and feed from whatever nun you are fixated on at the moment, you are mistaken _._ ”

“ _Fixated?_ ” he raised his eyebrows again, apparently amused she had even used the word. “Your Alma was just a treat. An easy one to retrieve, with a mind so willing.”

She was silent, angry. He noted her hands were even in fists this entire time, as if she was straining to control her anger.

“Now, don’t be mad. I spared your favorites,” he smiled.

Dracula had never seen her this angry. It felt personal, more so than all the other times he had upset her by his…usual actions. She was collected enough, unbothered even in their previous encounters. And now she was upset about this minor inconvenience.

“You’re a pest, sneaking your way in where no one wants you.”

“A _pest_? Just when I thought the insults couldn’t get any lower,” he smirked. “Sister Agatha strikes again.”

His possible attempt to erode the situation didn’t help at all. Agatha slapped him hard and he touched his cheek, in mild surprise.

“ _Ow_.”

“Yes, it appears I did strike again, in more ways than one,” she said, regarding his comment. “Now, let me make this clear. You will not have any of them,” she continued. “Not again. I won’t allow it.”

“ _You won’t allow it_ …” he said slowly, considering how exactly she planned to do that.

She had shown him mercy—had he known that?—She had even shown him some of the sunlight he so seemed to crave, allowed him to touch her. And he used it to his advantage. Did he know she had been weak, believe her incapable of hurting him now because of a warped closeness they _supposedly_ had developed?

“You are pitiful. A vile and invasive beast,” she continued.

A strange sort of laugh came from him. Several times had such words but spoken, but they seemed to bother him now. Dracula almost thought her own feelings were latching on to him somehow. Maybe they were.

He noticed Agatha was flushed with her anger, it was evident in her skin and even her scent. That scent, that carried with it the reminder of the blood she taunted him with whenever she deemed it useful to. The scent that rose with her emotions. It clouded his senses slightly. Dracula was drawn to the warmth she emitted, even in her twisted, negative feelings.

Agatha took a deep breath, swallowed hard. She was determined. If he thought her this harmless, this deluded, she was sorely offended. And he, sorely mistaken.

“What can I say?” he stepped closer, so close she could almost feel him now. “I’ve developed a taste for nuns.”

The sentence made her seething with rage. Agatha took the silver blade she had hidden in her hand the entire time, which in his own arrogance he had failed to notice.

Quickly and without hesitation, she punctured him straight in the chest.

It truly caught him off guard and visibly affected him. He stumbled a bit, and Agatha smiled for a moment, exhilarated by her albeit probable momentary success. She didn’t even want to pull out the blade, lest the silver stop its effect on him. Dracula seemed extremely pained, weakening before her immediately.

Her smile faltered though, when strangely, Agatha felt a hot, piercing pain in her chest as well, a pain that seemed to fog her mind slightly.

She locked eyes with him for a moment before he fell to his knees, and she placed a hand on her chest, trying to keep focused. Agatha knew he realized it too—that somehow, she felt something of what he was experiencing. The revelation of the deepness of their connection alarmed her slightly, but she knew he was in a much worse state than she was—and she would have to take advantage of the moment despite her pain.

Her adrenaline spiked at seeing his physical weakness. It allowed her a distraction of the burning and hazy sensations that threatened to paralyze her. Agatha rushed to grab the wooden stake she had hidden in the nightstand earlier, to end him if the silver hadn’t already. She quickly turned back to him once she retrieved it.

Dracula was on the floor, his legs splayed out and chest heaving irregularly, the perfect vision of complete vulnerability. Though she didn’t know where it was now, Agatha observed that he had taken the blade out of his body, the slightest bit of blood on his shirt. He still seemed…alive, but paralyzed. Barely conscious.

Strangely, she felt something within her telling her not to kill him. An instinct, a need to keep him alive. She recognized it as some effect of this bond, an effect of him. One that could surely mean the end of her and anyone she cared about.

Agatha fought off all her thoughts telling her not to harm him further and knelt beside Dracula, taking in his…somewhat lively appearance for what she imagined would be the last time.

She raised the stake up, in a manic sort of state, excited at the prospect of diving it into him and ending him once and for all. She was wicked for feeling such a thrill, she knew it. But it did seem a momentous occasion.

As soon as she lowered her stake, Agatha realized her error. His eyes shot open, glimmering with malice as he caught her wrists before the wood touched his chest.

Dracula took hold of both of her arms and Agatha stumbled as he pushed her backwards and pinned her wrists tightly onto the floor. He was clumsier, slower, than usual. But so was she, and she didn’t have his naturally exceeding abilities. She was less frightened of the fact that she was captured under him, and more frightened of her struggle with her muddled senses, one she could see the Count struggling with himself, even as he seemed to be recovering rather quickly.

Agatha tried to find a way to physically maneuver her way out of this before he bit her again or killed her, whatever he was going to do before he slaughtered the rest of her convent. Though he was succeeding at overpowering her, it seemed to be difficult for him to keep her pinned down under him, while at the same time holding himself up.

She used her one advantage at the moment and thrust her knee between his thighs, where she (hoped) it would hurt. She was happy to see that it did.

Dracula loosened his grip on her arms and hissed. Agatha could see the flash of pain and anger overtake his features, his sharp teeth out and ready for attack. She could barely stand up, the effects of his wound still attacking her, taking its toll—but she was able to crawl away from him, making her way to the wooden stake again.

“No,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere,” his voice was rough, pained.

But she was going to try.

“You’re not--” she struggled to form the words. “You’re not going to hurt any of them anymore.”

Agatha heard him growl and move on the floor behind her, and she only hoped she could get to her weapon fast enough. Before she got the chance to reach for the stake, she felt him pull her ankle and slide her body towards him. She found herself on her back again facing him. She tried to kick him, and he took hold of her legs immediately to situate his knees between her, leaving her with no means of harming him anymore like she had before. She didn’t much register, nor care, in the moment that her nightgown had ridden up in the process of this. If he was going to kill her, she was not going down without a fight in the least.

In an agitated frenzy, she clawed and shoved at him. As she continued to hit and scratch, both at his chest and his face, now red with the marks from her nails, Dracula growled and pinned her down, this time more harshly.

Briefly Agatha thought she could’ve reached for the stake again earlier and killed him, or in the least run away, had she not felt so delirious. She had not expected her attack on him to hurt her as well. But that was pointless to think about. She had to make peace with the fact that she may have lost, hoping for some kind of salvation for her Sisters.

Agatha winced at the pain she still felt in her chest, which she had unknowingly inflicted to her own self. It affected her intensely, and she imagined how much worse he must have felt when she pierced the silver through him. His chest was still heaving, and his face appeared pained as well, his gaze hazy and unfocused still.

Dracula felt her skin heat up considerably under him as it did whenever he touched her, something he had noticed many times before now, a thought that kept him up often. There was also present the certain kind of need, the bloom between their minds urging mutual understanding, closeness.

Agatha felt him try to pry inside her mind again; as it was now just too easy for them to sense each other in this way. She felt anger, disappointment. Craving. Something entirely wrong. She tried to shut him out, even though she knew she couldn’t wake up from this—She closed her eyes and prayed for her Sisters.

“No, no no no. You just tried to kill me,” he sighed and Agatha felt his grip on her wrists tighten. “ _Again._ Very annoying. You aren’t getting out of this…Now, settle down and listen.”

She didn’t react, and he was bothered by it immensely.

“Agatha,” he said her name in a darker manner. “Listen to me.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was—the main reason she was at this level of her fervor. He felt it too. Although he did not comprehend it. But he wanted to at least make one thing clear.

“I need you to understand something—”

She opened her eyes and laughed a little.

“Understand? What is there to understand? I’ve had enough of you and your conversations. If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. That _is_ what you’re good at. Wretched vampire.”

He paused for a moment, her words riling him up, twisting at him in ways he wasn’t sure how to react to. He then moved her wrists above her, easily holding them down with one hand now, as he retrieved the silver blade that she had stabbed him with just moments before from his clothes.

Agatha noticed the change in his demeanor after she had spoken, now an even more detached, apathetic one. He took her face in his hand, which also held the blade, and he held her jaw firmly, ensuring her attention to him.

“You talk to me as if I couldn’t tear you to pieces with my hands alone. None of my brides have been this difficult. I _should_ kill you. And I think I will,” his voice was gentle and smooth, as if he hadn’t been throwing threats at her.

“But first,” he reached over to where he held her wrists and placed the sharp knife in her hands, slicing open her palms in a swift movement.

She registered the pain from the silver, which felt burning and intense, but she barely moved or made a sound.

“That’s interesting,” he said, frowning a bit as he looked to his own hand, seemingly recognizing the pain as their own.

The smell of blood hit him instantaneously as soon as it seeped from her wounds, but he inhaled sharply and focused on taking the blade and raising it above her slightly. His grip on her wrists tightened. Dracula searched for any signs of fear, or regret, sadness even, which his victims usually displayed during their last moments when they were not hallucinating. She didn’t have any of that. Instead she was resilient, angry, strong even in her apparent physically weak state…Alive. Brave, as always. Warmth and life was what she exuded.

He quickly pinned down the blade next to her on the floor in a swift movement, and Agatha released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding in. 

Dracula moved closer and leaned forward above her to lap the blood from her hands. She gasped a bit; his tongue actually soothed the pain for a moment, but she didn’t care. Agatha balled her hands up into fists, neglecting him the taste.

He chuckled and pulled back slightly. He was again consumed at the moment by the scent of her, which was somehow heavier, sweeter tonight.

“I’ve always admired your spirit, Agatha. You smell all sorts of delicious.”

Dracula ran his gaze from her bleeding palms, latched around above her, down her body, between them. Agatha took in his movements and glances, studying him in her own way—She supposed she always was. She decided he did the same with his victims, studying them, as she noted how he gazed over her in deep thought.

He caught her staring, and the corners of his mouth formed the smallest of a smile, again displaying his fangs.

“Don’t worry. I could never taint the modesty of a nun,” he said.

“I won’t kill you. I won’t even go deep enough make you dream,” he said softly, though his sharp teeth were a threat she was always fearful of, whether she admitted it or not.

“But I do hope your dear Detective brought you enough blood to sustain you. Because you are about to lose a lot of it.”

He leaned down to her neck.

“You intend to starve me?” she said, trying to keep him talking now.

“Yes,” he whispered. “And like me, you will seek out what you need.”

_Blood._

She felt his breath on her skin, eliciting in her feelings and thoughts she should _not_ be having. But he seemed to stir many of these within her.

“I can handle my impulses. Listen to me, vampire. No matter how starved I am, I will never be like you.”

“That is probably what I love most about you.”

He smiled down at her and licked his lips, his fangs menacing even more so in the dim light, small remnants of her blood on his mouth.

“But we’ll see how strong your resolve really is.”

The scratches she inflicted on his face and his disheveled hair made him look even more predatory. He leaned next to her again and whispered in her ear.

“I’m going to make you thirst for it. When I’m done with you, you’ll know what it’s like to want to drain a nun,” he said darkly. It was a promise.

He moved to the side of her neck and grazed his fangs over her skin there. He didn’t dare puncture her, but Agatha felt his sharp teeth split her open enough for her to bleed. Agatha gasped lightly, feeling a wave of sensations fuel her aside from the pain, one of them being adrenaline again which, in the least, could allow her to regain her strength.

His licked the blood off her slowly and eagerly, light grazing and biting across her flesh, from her neck to her collarbone, to the bit of skin exposed to him at the top of her chest. He growled lightly as he moved along her.

“So you can show your Sisters that I’m coming for them all, that is, _if you don’t come for them first_.” he said. “All because theirs likes to provoke me.”

She felt herself grow hot with anger and desperation, her heart beating in her chest. It seemed to urge him on, and he trailed along her skin more eagerly. He became harsher and rougher with his mouth and teeth; she felt him biting and sucking at her flesh like the wild animal he was. Though admittedly, his restraint at digging his fangs into her showed he was more than a beast.

“And so your Detective knows who you belong to.”

The physical pain was something she hardly even felt now—aside from the silver, of course-- given her vampiric qualities. But she was clouded by immense feelings that had her wishing this was a dream, so she could snap out of it and disappear. It was nonsensical, completely inappropriate. The feelings she sometimes experienced around him that she tried to bury desperately.

Agatha felt his tongue and lips at her skin at the other side of her neck now. She kept smelling the odd scent of her own blood, along with his, as he continued his work on her. The whole act was strange, gentle, delicious, and she felt herself suffocated by desire. She didn’t even register him hurting her anymore. Agatha couldn’t even believe her demented thoughts—and she had lived through plenty. Her chest felt heavy with restraint under his.

“You’re flushed all over,” he finally said in between his movements, appreciating his work as he gazed over her skin. His voice was sweet, gentle. She didn’t know how to respond, and remained silent, completely taken aback at the sudden statement.

He continued on her neck, before moving just below her collarbone. Involuntarily, her body responded to him. She arched her back only slightly, aching for more contact than she dared to think about. He seemed to take it as a struggle, taking her waist in his hand that wasn’t pinning her wrists, and holding her still.

Dracula was suckling and licking every small drop, still careful not to puncture her too deeply, but Agatha knew she was losing blood—fast. She didn’t know how he was doing it so gently, yet so quickly, but she felt the weakness, the hunger as he took her blood. She hoped--prayed she wouldn’t lose too much health, so she could in the least help her Sisters. She couldn’t allow herself to be a danger to them.

In contradiction to her logical thoughts, the feel of him on her, and his eager mouth on her body had her wishing he could let her go so she could touch him, feel him. She wanted badly to succumb to her primal urges. Maybe that would drive him out of her system.

In the midst of these— _highly_ \--alarming thoughts, she found herself flooded by the mingled scents of their blood and formulated an idea.

“Come here,” she whispered, hoping to God that in the mist of his curiosity along with his general arrogance of his own power over her, he would.

He ignored her.

“Do as I say. Come here,” she ordered.

He looked at her with his dark, bloodshot eyes.

“So, now you want to talk?” he said. He pulled the knife from next to her and tossed it away from them. “You didn’t want to hear me earlier.”

His voice was rough, and tired. She felt him try to pry himself inside her mind again, searching her for God knows what, or perhaps simply giving in to their connection without much thought or consideration. She blocked him out as best as she could.

“I don’t want to talk, and there is nothing else I want to hear from you. You are a monster,” she asserted.

He grazed his teeth along her chest again, and licked the bleeding wound there above her breast. She inhaled sharply, now trying to focus on anything instead of this taunting intensity between them, that was all raw feeling now burning through her.

She didn’t know if it was her own wicked side that wanted him; Or maybe this is what he felt when he had blood, and he was projecting it onto her. If so, it made sense why he was so sorely addicted.

“I feel it too,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.

“Be quiet,” she said, very much alarmed as she looked down at him. “I said, come here.”

“If you don’t want to talk, then what are you trying?”

“Why so cautious?”

“Why do you think?”

“I’m quite literally helplessly beneath you. And you are afraid of me? Do as I say. Come here, boy.”

He could swear she knew how her words affected him, twisting him into obedience.

Agatha was relieved to see it. Dracula raised his face from the skin of her chest to her face now. She locked eyes with him, he was so close now she could kiss him. His lips were stained with her, and she thought about it briefly—kissing him. The darker, sinful side of her wanting to embrace this seething frustration and put him in his place.

But that was not the plan, and she needed to regain her strength. Why drink the blood of her Sisters, when she could drink the blood of a king? So instead, she leaned into his neck and finally retracted her fangs and bit into him—as hard as she could. The act was so instinctive and quick she almost didn’t register that she had actually gone through with it.

Dracula was seemingly not expecting that at all. He didn’t move at first, and she was half surprised that he didn’t stop her or hold her back.

She could see why he liked this so much. Agatha felt his energy, strength, and power fuel her into an energized, almost manic state. She tasted brief notes of her own blood in his…His blood, so rich and full of darkness, menace, history, even something that felt like love, had she ever experienced it herself. Her body was instantly flushed again and reactive. She heard him groan a bit; she wondered if it hurt him at all. But he didn’t push her away.

_Just a bit more._

Dracula, finally coming out of whatever shock she had brought upon him, let go of her wrists as she hoped he would, and she took the opportunity to grasp at his hair and pull him closer as she continued to drink him. It was much easier to feed in this way, much more comfortable to latch on.

She bent her knees slightly as she continued, cradling him tightly between legs that were already at either side of him, holding him in place. She felt in the moment possessive. She didn’t want to let him go. She was aching, the feel of him between her and all around her not helping.

His own hands moved rather urgently to her thighs, gripping her exposed skin so tightly she worried she might be bleeding there now.

She could feel him in every way, sense his desperation through this bond, his blood, whatever it was—possibly a combination of the two. He wanted to will her into succumbing to him somehow, though he was unfolding rather quickly himself.

More. Everything inside her screamed for more blood, touch, intimacy.

 _More._ As if she couldn’t control her own impulses. She would.

 _Enough_ , she thought. She had to get out of here.

When she pulled away from him, she licked her teeth, savoring the taste for the last time. Agatha instantly pushed him off her with a strength she didn’t have before.

She slowly stood up and backed away, holding on to the nightstand for leverage.

“Leave,” she said, looking towards the window, trying to compose herself.

“Leave and don’t come back,” she said. She knew he had to, he had no other way out or inside the convent now, nowhere else to go. She had ensured the place was properly guarded.

Dracula seemed to still be recovering his strength, but his dark eyes were fierce and at his first movement she moved backwards towards the door, opening it behind her. She looked down and stepped over the pages there, feeling salvation in the line that seemed to draw them apart. She shut the door and leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing.

She was angry she couldn’t kill him, worried she never would.

She looked down at the pages of the Bible on the floor which were starting to affect her now—She was repulsed by them. Frightened.

She moved away from them, her back hitting the wall on the opposite side of the door. Agatha was immensely bothered by this; of course drinking his blood would come with certain drawbacks. But she couldn’t let such a thing control her--They were but words on paper. That is all.

Agatha thought of her father. He always wanted her to read more often, their faith written down on something so simple as paper. She would make herself touch the pages, reject the Count’s weaknesses from taking over her.

A quick prayer, and thankfully, she was able to.


	20. Empowered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha says goodbye to her Sisters (and inadvertently invents water guns?)

The blood of a vampire. Or at least _his_ blood. Agatha’s scientific mind couldn’t help recognizing it as a key to success of the Count’s attempts at creating more like him--though this not something she needed to think on at the moment. His blood was clearly something more than a combination of the lives he took. She had the notion before tonight that it was, but now she knew for certain. His blood had saturated her with something more. She felt empowered.

Agatha noticed everyone’s scent more strongly now and realized this may soon become a problem. Luckily, she was well fed enough for now. She walked the infirmary to check on her Sisters, still needing the confirmation that they were fine, in spite of knowing the convent was safe at the moment.

When she opened the door, it was with such force that she almost took the wood from its hinges. It would no doubt take a while for her to grow accustomed to her newfound strength.

Her Sisters looked at her in horror when they saw the state she was in. Maria, Lily, and Florence noted it looked like the nun had come out of battle.

“Are you alright?!—You’re bruised and bleeding,” said Maria, rushing over to her with a handkerchief. “And have some…red on your chin.”

“Oh, right,” said Agatha, wiping off some of the blood. Truly she must look worse than she felt. “I’m ok. Really.”

“What on Earth happened?”

“Well, Count Dracula showed up, as expected. But he’s gone now. We had an argument, that was all,” she stated simply.

“ _Oh._ Well, I reckon I’ve never had a proper argument before,” said Florence, wide eyed and inspecting the state of her clothes and marks on her chest.

Maria nudged her, before she could continue saying anything else along those lines. Agatha ignored the comment, rubbing her neck. She would heal soon enough.

“Is he really…gone then?” Maria asked.

“From the premises, yes,” she said. “He tried to turn me against you all, the miscreant.”

“And you’ve fed…” said Lily. “From him?”

“Yes. It was necessary at the moment.”

“Well, you’re glowing, Agatha,” said Florence. “In spite of your frenzied state, you must feel well, I imagine. What was it like?”

“Florence, she was literally just in a room with a vampire, you shouldn’t be asking her such things,” stated Lily.

“It’s alright. It was fine,” she said waving a hand in the air. She didn’t exactly want to articulate on the matter, though she could relate to her younger Sister’s curiosity.

“I do feel quite rejuvenated I admit. Now, onto important matters: You’re all safe. Keep every part of the convent surrounded with the pages as we did tonight, for precaution. The convent must remain protected. You know about the rest, correct? There’s garlic, I presume that could help as well. Holy water too, definitely…” she chuckled. Agatha’s thoughts seemed to race quickly through her mind. “…They must invent some sort of revolvers that shoot out water instead of bullets. That would be very helpful…”

“Slow down, Agatha…” said Lily.

“Oh, and the silver. I just found out it works.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, I stabbed him with it,” she said, ignoring her Sisters’ surprised reactions. She needed to deliver as much knowledge as she possibly could. 

“It does not kill but it does create a temporary paralysis. I have some blades in my study, which I will leave you with before I go. Along with anything else that might be helpful. Stakes, of course…”

“You’re leaving?” asked Maria.

“Yes, of course, I must.”

“Why? Agatha, we trust you. We know you won’t hurt us. Even if you did stroll in here with blood on your chin and almost breaking down the doors,” Maria smiled. “We need you here.”

“I did hurt you. Involuntarily as it might have been, I did. I have brought a vampire into the convent, and not one as harmless as myself,” Agatha said. “I can’t continue to risk that. And you don’t need me. All you need are two things—Wits and weapons.”

“Can’t you control it? Stop the dreaming?” asked Lily.

“That is the problem. I can try but I’m not sure how effective that will be. It’s not exactly easy to… _remove_ the Count from one’s mind. And given that I’ve had more of his blood,” she sighed. “I am not going to allow that to occur here any longer.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. We’ll go with you,” Maria insisted.

“You will stay here. I will not hear anything more of it. Now, the daytime is fine. At night stay in your rooms. Take care of the others. The convent is properly guarded. Oh, and as for Alma and Emily—"

“We will nurse them back to health, I know.”

“I was going to say, stake them,” she said.

“Oh. Right.”

“If they show any further changes or aggressive behavior, of course. They are isolated, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Keep at a safe distance and if it needs to be done, stake them while they sleep in the day. It is for their own sake.”

“Agatha,” said Maria. “Will you be ok?”

“Yes, I will be,” she smiled softly, trying to offer as much comfort as she could. “I’m going to go pack some things and then I’m leaving. I’m going to find Stefan.”

“You’re going to stay with the Detective? Agatha, I don’t think that’s…allowed…”

“Given the situation, I don’t have much of a choice. Besides, I’ve practically been sleeping with the other one, so either way I don’t think I am on good terms with God at the moment…I left you all some things in my study. Enough for you and the rest of the convent. Is everything understood?”

The Sisters nodded, knowing there was nothing they could do to stop their (very stubborn) Sister.

“I’ll write to you.”

The youngest of them, Florence, reached out and gave Agatha a hug goodbye.


	21. Mad Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha is staying with Detective Stefan and is trying not to think of, well, other stimulating things.

It was late and raining when Agatha arrived at the inn, after many days of taking train rides (she had the schedules memorized by now). It was a small, dark building near Whitby.

Agatha opened the door to the entrance of the lobby but to her horror realized she could not physically go inside.

“Hello,” said the innkeeper, now eyeing her strangely from the counter since the nun appeared to simply be standing at the door, refusing to come in.

“What are you doing out there? It’s raining,” he said. He saw that she looked to be struggling, eyeing the wooden floors before her.

“Hi, yes--can you invite me inside?”

“Well, the inn is open to everyone of course!”

“I—,” Agatha was annoyed beyond belief. She couldn’t step inside, needed him to directly tell her to do so.

“Would you please verbally invite me inside, as precisely as you could?”

“What’s stopping you?”

She was shocked and annoyed at hearing the same words she had told Count Dracula once, though this was a much different situation.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” she said under her breath, the pouring rain coming down on her. “I need you to verbally invite me inside, sir.”

“Why?” he said, still standing by the counter.

“It is necessary. A rule we nuns abide by.”

“A nun rule? How odd…”

Was he seriously this stubborn? For crying out loud, Agatha didn’t know why it was so difficult to get the words out of him.

“Well that’s quite strange. Why exactly do you need…”

He was cut off by a familiar voice, as Stefan made his way down the stairs.

“Sister Agatha. Why are you out in the rain? Come in,” he said, seemingly surprised she was there.

That was easy.

“Thank goodness,” she said, stepping inside. “Stefan, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you as well, but what are you doing here?” he said as he took off his coat and placed it over her.

“I had to leave the convent. Due to the…issue that was encountered.”

“Is everyone ok?”

“For now, yes.”

“Well, don’t worry, Agatha. We’ll keep each other safe.”

“Danger? You’re a nun,” said the innkeeper, eavesdropping.

“Yes…” she said, brushing off the statement. “Do you have any room available? As isolated as possible.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “We just sold our last rooms. Your friend has the corner room here, it is isolated and one of our largest. If you really need a place to stay…”

“Agatha, of course you’ll stay with me,” Stefan said, looking back at the innkeeper. “It’ll allow me to help you with your…dreaming problem.”

“What dreaming problem?” asked the innkeeper.

“I get a lot of nightmares,” stated Agatha.

“So, any letters for me?” said Stefan interjecting.

“None today.”

“Thank you.”

Once they unlocked the door to his room, which was more of a suite really, Agatha took out one of her Bibles from her luggage and started quickly removing the pages, surrounding the room with them.

“What are you doing?”

“Protecting. If he—if anything comes to me, it’s staying in this room. And we must be ready to kill it.”

“Agatha, if I could please say something I hope you won't take the wrong way—”

“What is it?” she said, still focused on her task.

“You might be acting a little…paranoid.”

“Paranoid? No, Stefan, not paranoid. I am being cautious.”

“I know you are taking precaution, but you seem overwrought. Maybe you should get some sleep.”

“Actually, I plan to refrain from it as much as possible.”

And she did. For many days she tried to refrain from sleep, and successfully so—for she now realized she needed much less of it than Stefan or any normal human would. Sleep seemed to her more of a luxury than a necessity. She wondered how much sleep Dracula really needed at all.

Agatha did her best to not to think of him. She felt that tugging in her mind nagging at her to be led to the Count. It was there, intense and insistent as ever. The want, need almost, to be lured in whether in dreams or outside of them. To see him, drink in his presence. A dangerous thing.

Days passed, maybe even weeks—And she could almost sense him reaching out to her, to torment her, no doubt. But fortunately, she was able to block him out more easily now and focus her attention on other matters. His blood improved her in this way. And to think that prior to it she even struggled with her surroundings. But some nights were tougher than others…

And today, although she was determined not to, she found it extremely difficult not to think of the vampire.

Agatha was sitting on the bed (fortunately there were two in the room, along with a sofa bed) reading a page from one of the books she had brought, trying to distract herself from her mad thoughts. The door unlocked, and Stefan walked inside with some things.

“I’m back with some food for me, and well, drinks for you…” he said casually. He meant blood, of course. When did this become so casual, she wasn’t sure. It was still absurd to her, even now, the drinking of blood she needed.

Blood was of course a necessity, but it not as enticing as it originally was. Maybe this was the Count’s preference for live blood rubbing off on her. The thought scared her, but fortunately, she noted that she didn’t often feel hungry. She sometimes even woke up feeling like she had just been fed, when she hadn’t had any blood at all.

“Oh, and I brought you something. It isn’t even sold here in Europe yet,” he laughed. “A friend in town managed to get me one. It will help you stay awake.”

“What is it?” she said, looking up at him, as he set his bags down on a table.

He took out a small can of soda and opened it. The crisp sound of the can opening was a bit loud to her ears, and she smelled the strange odor immediately.

Stefan handed her the beverage and she started drinking it quickly. She scrunched up her nose. It was far too carbonated for her, but if it would keep her awake, she would drink it.

“It’s very strong,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said, “You know, you never told me what happened the night you left the convent.”

“It isn’t important. But I can assure you, the silver works,” she smiled.

He raised his eyebrows and went to sit next to her.

“So it did, did it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you don’t have to say anything more of it if you don’t want to. You seem a bit overwrought again today…Are you hungry?…”

“No. Some days it is just more difficult than others to deal with the state of my, well, vampirism,” she stated, raising her eyebrows.

“The bloodlust?”

“No—”

“The Count, you mean,” he said, understanding her struggle. He had seen it before so many times.

She nodded, sipping some more of the soda before placing the can on the nightstand.

“I think I am doing rather well though, I’m proud to say,” she smiled again.

“Good. Now, why don’t I help you relax?”

She looked at him curiously, and he placed a hand on her cheek. He took the opportunity—Agatha noted the Detective was much bolder than most of the men she had met before--and kissed her on the lips softly.

“Wait,” she said, pulling back a bit.

“What is it?”

“I came here as your friend. Nun or otherwise. If I can even call myself that anymore.”

He chuckled.

“I understand…I’m alright with a friendship. But—”

“But what?” she said.

Agatha wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of kissing Stefan—she had experienced it before, been curious…but she did not want to lead him into thinking she was serious about something like this, when her mind was obviously not prepared for it, and she doubted his was. They were both far too obsessed with vampires, it seemed. Revenge. Haunted by the past. She understood him. But to her he was a friend, not a lover.

“It doesn’t have to be personal,” he said, his face still close to hers, giving her a moment to think over it.

“It would just be to unwind, relieve stress…We will only do what you wish, of course,” he continued.

Again, his boldness. The fact that he would say that to her, friend or not, it was very forthright—especially to a nun. And he was kind, handsome. She had dreamed about him before.

She decided to lean in and kiss him now. It was not something she had done in a long time before she met him so she was slow, experimental.

As their kiss deepened he pulled her close by the waist and Agatha pushed him back on the mattress—as lightly as she could. But as she was still not used to the effect of her new strength, she had been too forceful and Stefan looked momentarily stunned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, unable to contain a small chuckle from escaping her.

“It’s alright,” he smiled, as he pulled her close, Agatha lingering over him as she kissed him again. His hands ran over her sides.

This little exploration with the Detective would no doubt be added to her list of sins. And she had many. Agatha knew she had much to account for, and she still was haunted by her own guilt. Her guilt over having been to detrimental to her convent—twice—because of a certain vampire.

As she kissed Stefan her body felt the heat, the curiosity of continuing, and her logical thoughts became illogical. Taking her out of the moment. Agatha couldn’t help thinking about the effects of Dracula’s blood. She wondered what else could be achieved with it—and if it should even be studied at all. Why had the silver hurt him when no other blade could? Why was he intent on torturing her—on feeding from her Sisters?

And there was that of their bond. He hadn’t been lying about that. There was something there, something that was both an advantage, and a disadvantage to her.

But to be thinking of the Count now…was foolish. Dangerous. She pulled back for a moment, looking at the Detective. Strong fingers ran over her legs as she kissed Stefan. He was intent on touching her more and more, but she barely registered the moment, her mind seemingly racing with mad thoughts all over again. Was this what it was like for the Count as well? Did he grow to think this quickly, maybe all at once, and learn to take hold of his own thoughts? She could only think of Dracula, especially when Stefan moved down to kiss her on her neck. She could almost feel—or rather see—the vampire she was so close to now somewhere in the confines of her mind. Stefan’s hands and mouth on her now reminding her of the vampire, making her wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, to be so very close in every way.

“Oh no,” she said, under her breath. This was ridiculous.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” she nodded, kissing him again as he held her.

There was the pain of negligence, physical pain even, of denying this connection she had formed with the vampire, when she could almost sense him. And now was most inopportune to be thinking about such things. She was not about to let Dracula in, to give him a glimpse of her, to give in to this bond again.

Stefan continued to kiss her eagerly, and his lips began to move lower to her chest. Somehow now she was thinking even more illogically, her thoughts beginning to quickly separate themselves from the present moment. More thoughts of her enemy, stimulating her current actions. It was disturbing. She wasn’t going to do this—Stefan didn’t deserve this at all.

“Ok. No, that’s enough,” she said mostly to herself, though she harshly pushed Stefan back on the mattress again and quickly realized it. “I apologize—I didn’t mean to be so rough,” she said.

“Agatha,” he laughed. “It’s alright. Are you ok?”

“I just need to stop,” she said as she moved off him, and sat up again on the bed. It was so abrupt that Stefan was confused. Agatha herself was confused about her own thoughts, about her impulsive actions.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“It's not you. It's just me. My mind is not at its most logical at the moment.”

“Is it someone else?” He sat up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Someone else? NO, I’m a nun, as you know” she said as she stood up, though she certainly hadn’t been acting like one.

“I know, it was only…I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t. I just...I don’t feel like myself,” she said, taking the can of soda again and drinking more. “You’ve been nothing but good to me,” she said. 

She really was thankful she had come to know him here in England.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Coffee would be nice, actually,” she smiled.

“…Along with the soda?” he said, a bit surprised.

“I’ll have both. I want to ensure I don’t sleep tonight,” she stated.

“I understand,” he smiled softly, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll bring you some fresh coffee from downstairs.”

Agatha didn’t sleep that day, or the day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will more than likely be Dracula's POV. Thanks for reading. <3  
> 


	22. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Dracula regains his strength (and probably needs therapy).

By the time he made it back to his new home, Dracula was not only drained, but visibly so. Sunken cheeks, deep bags under his eyes, and yes—the greys were coming in, whites even—and fast. He knew he had to act quickly. He was not about to let himself get back to his condition in Transylvania.

It had taken quite the body count for Dracula to fully recover his youthful splendor and abilities he so depended on for his own identity. His tact for murder was less precise than usual. The Count had probably murdered more people in the past couple of days than he had ever done in such a short period of time, as he tried to recover as quickly as he could.

He was impatient, hungry…seething. Instead of luring people in, he sought them out aggressively, fed on them quickly, leaving behind a perfect parade of corpses, grotesquely killed, and more to come, perfect for Agatha’s Detective friend to track down and maybe even flinch at.

And those who didn’t die would become his. As did the others who showed up, in the courtyard of his mansion, seeking his guidance and leadership as their father of vampires.

However, there was the problem of his appetite. No matter how much he drank, or even how violently he killed--No matter how much blood he spilled, general cravings could not be satisfied. And he remained bothered, unsated. Restless and anxious even, which he was unaccustomed to, barely even remembered. Emotions were not his forte, and when he drank them in, they were fleeting.

It had been weeks since he had seen Agatha. That night when she had attacked him had been the last time. When she tried to kill him over a minor inconvenience, or so he thought. Apathetic as the Count was, it took until she punctured him in the chest to realize the seriousness of Agatha’s feelings towards her Sisters, the seriousness of his crimes against her.

Dracula used to be more easily able to access her in dreams, reality, whatever the case. Now, not so much. He could no longer reach her. Intentionally, she had blocked him out (which she was now obviously very capable of doing), cut their little cord. Something she had accused him of creating, though he had not done so intentionally.

Her drinking more of his blood had filled her with his own power. How much more she possessed he could not be sure. He contemplated it often. Contemplated her.

He truly enjoyed meeting with Agatha, looked forward to it even. In fact, the meals he took were only a treat, secondary to his meetings with her. He had grown close to his bride, but of course, he would reap the benefits of what their connection offered. How could he not? It was too easy, or so he thought.

Perhaps even more agitating than her trying to kill him again was his inability to do the same. He had been weak. Sentimental, maybe.

Unsated. Awfully hungry. Broken.

As he mentally dissected his own condition, that last word came into his mind. He was not going to remain that way. The way he was constantly overthinking this was ridiculous.

Perhaps he had been so careless in his recent killing streak that he was not choosing his victims carefully enough. Or maybe he needed something more…delectable, and to take his time, like he did with his brides. That might satisfy him, curb the appetite.

He decided he would go out again do things differently. Dracula dressed with the all the newest clothes he had bought and found in England (usually taken from his victims, being as they didn’t need it anymore), and this evening as he buttoned up his shirt he noticed the scarring on his chest from the silver his bride had stabbed him with. He did have a few battle scars of his own, but this was the only mark he had gotten in ages. He wondered if it would heal at all.

He visited the same bar he had told Agatha about once to seek out his next victim…Dracula did like to play with fire and didn’t care in the least if he was found. In fact, he would welcome it.

“So what are you here for?” said a voice next to him.

Dracula was so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t noticed the man, though this was exactly what he was here for. Fresh blood. More of it.

“Are we in prison?” joked the Count.

The man laughed, looked over him suggestively. He sat next to him, mug in hand, and obviously interested—but full of alcohol. The drunk part wasn’t good, Dracula thought, but cheerful would be a nice change from the recent souring of his mood. Perhaps he could drink that in for a moment.

"Really, I have to know. What are you here for?" the man asked him again.

“Murder,” he smiled. “I was looking to get out of the house.”

“Trouble with the wife?”

“Yes. Precisely.”

“Well, I’m Henry.”

“Dracula. Count Dracula,” he elaborated.

“Nice to meet you, Count Dracula. So, you and the wife. What did you do?”

“Well, wait a minute now, she,” he drew out the word, “She tried to kill me.”

“Still begs the question, what did you do?” he asked the Count as he took a drink from his mug of alcohol. “You did something, or else you wouldn’t have gotten whatever she had coming to you.”

“Well,” he smirked. “I had my way with her Sisters.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “Sisters? As in more than one?”

“Plural, yes.”

“Well…You really did bad,” he stated, taking another drink. “That’s a loss. No wonder you’re in trouble,” he laughed.

If the Count hadn’t been eager to carry out his plan, he might have slaughtered him right there. He seemed to have developed a temper of sorts lately.

“So you’re not looking for my kind of company…?” he asked Dracula curiously.

“I am,” the Count smiled at him, knowing he could hurry him out of the place already, drink his meal.

“Good,” he said, obviously looking over the Count again, probably formulating ideas about what would (not) go on tonight.

“I just realized,” he continued. “You haven’t had a drink...”

“I’ll have one in a bit,” Dracula smiled, and leaned in. “Why don’t we go to my place, or yours?”

“Now?”

“Now.” said Dracula, standing up and motioning him to follow him out.

As they walked through the dark streets, Dracula held on to Henry’s upper arm to steady him, a bit annoyed at the lack of coordination from his soon to be victim. The Count looked forward as he led them through the dim alleyways.

He thought about what Agatha had told him once—how she had spent time living on her own after her father’s death. It was strange to think of her on the streets of some small town, thieving to survive. To survive in such a manner would require a determination and resilience she had always proved to have had. He was a survivor himself, but he was unfamiliar with not having his needs met, as easy comforts were practically served to him on a plate, even centuries ago.

“Almost there, aren’t we?,” said Dracula, remaining composed and again focusing on the task at hand. Distracting thoughts were not going to help him.

“Yeah. Feeling better?” Henry said, slurring his words to the Count.

“I’ve been feeling fine all evening,” the Count smiled. He had it all planned out. Go inside, take a bite, drain him slowly.

“I don’t think so,” he said, “You’ve been thoughtful all night. See, I’m good at reading people…”

“Well, I’m not people,” asserted the Count, delighted at the confused expression on his face. “I’m a vampire.”

The man burst into laughter, and Dracula joined him along.

“I guess I won’t be able to make you breakfast then, since I’m guessing that’s your way of saying you’ll be gone before the morning? Due to the sun and all?” he joked.

Dracula paused for a moment, assessing his words.

“Ah, yes. The sun. I am not fortunate enough to enjoy such a luxury.”

“You’re still feeling upset about the wife,” Henry said.

“I’m fine,” the Count reassured.

“Like I said, I can read people. Even nocturnal ones, Count Dracula…Let me guess—you want something sweet. Maybe this will help.”

The Count narrowed his eyes at him as Henry stopped walking and took out something from his jacket pocket. Some kind of candy wrapped in plastic.

“It’s peppermint.”

Oh. That. Yes, the scent hit him immediately. A fresh reminder. It made him feel something. And he didn’t like it at all.

“Very kind,” said the Count, coming closer.

“I always keep some in my pockets just in case—"

Henry was frightened and stopped talking when he looked to his face…He knew something had gone terribly wrong in the Count’s mind, for as soon as he took out the stupid piece of candy, Dracula’s calm demeanor was extinguished like a flame put out.

“What are you—”

The man struggled for air and dropped the candy he held, as Dracula wrapped his large hand around his neck and easily pulled him up against a wall in the nearest alley.

Dracula was somehow intensely affected by the reminder. The memory of her strange insistence on passing out candy to children because of some strange tradition, and her willingness to share some time of it with him. But that night, and ever since then, he took more than what she offered. And yes, he had grown to maybe regret it.

He was agitated about it, those moments, and there were a few of them. And now he was now thinking far too much about it—about her. The times when he had played his cards right and they weren’t at each other’s throats, when she had to give him the chance because they were on each other’s minds. He lost the opportunity, it slipped through his own grasp because of his own nature.

But—as his mind battled against his own strange regret, he thought--Agatha knew who he was. And now he was being punished for it. He had been kind to her. And he did think they had formed a warped sort of friendship in spite of everything. What did the rest matter?

She punished him when she pushed the silver into his chest, and when she lured him in and drank from him, and she punished him now when she denied him. Still, Dracula sought her out—often-- but his dreams were void, if he dreamt at all. An abstaining of their bond, against his will. He felt he was unwillingly seeking the return of it.

But now he was deprived, haunted by the solitude he had always lived with before her. It was maddening. Not being able to reach out, connect, or feel even, when she allowed him to. Though this in itself was no doubt a bad idea—he contemplated he may even give her another chance to kill him, if she allowed him to see her.

With this thought in mind he came to a decision.

“I think you’re right. I am still upset about the wife,” he said as the man gagged and gasped for air, struggling against the wall.

“She is punishing me for acting out. But I will not be ignored. And I will ensure nothing gets in my way,” he raised his eyebrows at the man and smiled.

Count Dracula tilted his head and sighed, inspecting the extent of his victim’s struggle.

“Any last words?” he asked, loosening his grip on him slightly.

Henry coughed before responding.

“I can see why she tried to kill you.”

The Count dug his sharp claws in his throat instantaneously. There was a sound at his death, perhaps not noticeable to human ears, but Dracula heard it and pushed in his nails harder even, flesh and throat leaking with blood.

Count Dracula grinned widely, retracting his fangs and piercing his throat there in the darkness of the alley. He drank him in quickly.


	23. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Count (probably still needing therapy) goes looking for Agatha, and meets the other nuns. :)

Sister Lily was cleaning the grounds when she noticed someone waiting at the entrance. She went to the barred gates, walking slowly as she did so. He was tall, attractive, and she had never seen him before around the convent. His dark hair was neat, and he wore a nice suit and a necktie, as she saw the Detective wear often. All the appearance of a kind, well off, handsome gentleman.

“Good evening,” he smiled as she approached.

“Good evening,” said Lily. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

He inhaled sharply before he spoke, looking at her only briefly, then behind her, as if searching for someone or something.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m looking for someone. May I come in?”

“Oh, well, it’s rather late but I suppose you could perhaps—” she stopped herself. She was speaking quickly, having almost invited him in. He did had an odd, magnetic power about him. He could be dangerous.

“It’s quite late for visitors.” she said simply. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I am…” he tilted his head as if he were thinking about it, and continued slowly so she could correctly catch the name. “Mr. Balaur.”

“Oh…” she frowned slightly. “And what is your business here?”

“I need to see Sister Agatha Van Helsing.”

“I’m afraid I can’t invite you in,” she said boldly.

The Count frowned at her but smiled again curiously.

“You can’t?”

“No. It is rather late and…I’m afraid we’re in a kind of lockdown.”

“…Pests?”

“Something like that, yes,” said Lily.

“No matter. I don’t need to go inside your convent. I can wait out here, by the benches. I just need to see Sister Agatha, if you would be so kind to call her to me.”

“Oh…we don’t have anyone by the name of Agatha Van Helsing here.”

“That is a lie,” he responded quickly, though his voice remained gentle and patient. “Now, Lily, why are you lying to me?”

“How did you know my name?”

He paused, annoyed at his own slip up. Then he laughed. Obviously, he needed to think over his words more. His state of mind—fogged for the past few weeks—had him slipping.

“You mentioned it earlier.”

“I don’t believe I did,” she countered.

“Maybe the Detective did then.”

“The Detective?”

“Yes, I am a friend of Detective Stefan Weber,” he said. “And of Agatha, of course. I know her…quite intimately.”

“Of course…and what business do you have with an Agatha Van Helsing?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“It’s personal. But it’s very important that I see her,” he said vaguely. “I have been trying to get in touch with her for a while now.”

 _You will know it’s him when you see him_ , Agatha had said to them once. And this very well could be Count Dracula. He was tall, dark, screamed danger as much as he tried to hide it. Though he did appear calm and polite enough, Lily felt he was still frightening in some inexplicable way.

“Will you please wait here a moment?”

“Of course. Take your time.”

Lily smiled and went away, walking quickly as she went to the kitchen where Maria, Florence, and some of the others were preparing supper.

“Maria,” she said. “We have company.”

“Company?”

“Yes. A man asking for Agatha. Says he’s a friend of hers and the Detective.”

“My, Agatha’s always got men visiting her, doesn’t she. Even when she’s away,” said Florence.

“Exactly. That is the problem.”

“What do you mean, Lily?” asked Maria, stopping what she was doing now and turning to her.

“That man out there, may or may not be a vampire. _The_ vampire.”

“What?” Maria and Florence spoke at the same time.

“I’ll go grab a stake,” Florence said, almost rushing away but Maria grabbed her arm.

“Florence, don’t be rash. We are not going to try our luck at killing a vampire,” stated Maria. “We shouldn’t even get too close to him. Lily, how sure are you that it’s him?”

“I can’t be completely sure. But I feel it must be. And Agatha told us we would know.”

“Well,” said Maria, patting her hands dry with a towel. “The convent is protected. Let’s go talk to him and send him on his way.”

As they left the kitchen and turned a corner of the hall leading to the entrance of the convent, the other two Sisters caught a glimpse of him. He was patiently waiting, walking back and forth, with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh my, is that him?” asked Florence gasping.

“Of course, yes it is.”

“I can see why Agatha wouldn’t stop dreaming of him. He looks rather…”

“Yes, I know,” said Lily.

“Agatha failed to tell us he was so--,” Florence continued.

“Florence,” said Maria. “Please don’t finish that sentence. Agatha would not want us to.”

“Right. I’m sorry, just an observation.”

As they neared the gates, the Count's eyes flickered from one Sister to the other, inhaling sharply the air around him, as if absorbing their scents.

“Hello ladies,” he grinned. Their attention immediately went to his sharp teeth.

“Hello,” said Florence softly, and there was an uneasy silence as they looked upon the "Mr. Balaur", trying to decipher whether it was really the vampire Agatha had spoken so much of. 

“I understand you are looking for Agatha Van Helsing,” said Maria. “We do not have a Sister Agatha here.”

“I thought I made it clear,” he said, now placing his large hands on the iron bars of the gate and stepping closer. The three Sisters could’ve sworn they heard the iron creak when he did so. “That I know for certain you _do_ have a Sister Agatha here.”

“Well, my Sisters are telling the truth—” said Florence.

“Dutch, tall, dark hair, intelligent and overly inquisitive? Ring any bells?”

“Yes, but—”

“ _Agatha Van Helsing_ ,” he said harshly, drawing out the syllables of her name. “I need her now. Urgently. So if you would please bring her to me. I know she is here and I will not leave the gates of your convent until I see her.”

He sighed, calming himself a bit. Dracula knew he needed to remain, well calm, to get what he wanted. And he was quickly scaring the Sisters, who were already suspicious of him, he knew that much.

“That is all I ask,” he lowered his voice. “I don’t need to go inside, and I won’t take up much of your dear Sister’s time.”

He let go of the iron bars and smiled, stepping back. The gates visibly shook with the strength he had just been holding them with, and the three women could swear they heard the iron creak again.

“Well you see,” said Maria. “You can wait out here all night. But we tell you the truth. We know who you speak of, of course, but Agatha is not here. I thought you would know…”

“Thought I would know?”

“Yes, given that…you’re a friend of Detective Stefan’s, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Sister Agatha left the convent a few weeks ago. She has been staying with the Detective ever since.”

The Count raised his eyebrows at the Sisters and then chuckled loudly.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Yes, she’s gone. She’s on a sort of…leave of absence,” continued Maria. The other Sisters nodded in agreeance.

There was an uneasy silence, and the Count’s face was visibly flushed and serious. Sister Florence laughed nervously. The other two nuns looked at her, glaring at her to stop bringing attention to herself. The Count barely seemed to notice it, however.

“She’s a nun. Do you nuns do that? ‘Leaves of absences?’ Running off with men?” he asked.

“Not usually. She is the exception.”

“Of course she is,” he said.

“Sister Agatha felt it was the best given our current….pest problem,” continued Lily.

“Ah,” he looked down, and flexed his fingers, balling them into fists momentarily before relaxing and looking back at the nuns, as composed as he possibly could.

“I don’t suppose you could give me any more information. Or know if Agatha is returning anytime soon…”

“No sir, we don’t. We’re not sure exactly where she is even at…I’m afraid we don’t have anything more to tell you,” said Maria. “It’s best you write to your friend.”

“Of course…I will,” he smiled, regaining his composure.

“Well ladies, thank you for your help. If Agatha returns, tell her Mr. Balaur sends his regards. Have a good night.”

“Yes, good night to you as well.”

They watched him go, quickly disappearing into the night. When he was gone, they proceeded to Agatha’s abandoned study, where she had left some of her readings and weapons perfectly organized for them.

“That was strange, wasn’t it,” said Lily.

“Very much so,” said Maria, looking around the room. It felt odd to her to be there without Agatha present.

“He looks human enough…but he certainly looks like a vampire,” said Florence, shrugging.

“Florence; How exactly would we even know what a vampire would look like?”

“Hm. You have a point,” she answered.

”He didn’t seem keen on being invited in,” said Maria.

“Yes…What did he want with Agatha?” asked Lily.

“I don’t know. Maybe he was going to kill her. If he is Count Dracula, she did hurt him very much the last night he was here…”

“True. I worry about her…”

“Agatha can handle herself,” said Florence. “Besides, she does have an obvious advantage. He is clearly fevered over her.”

The other two nuns glared at her.

“Florence,” remarked Lily, “The things you say sometimes—”

“What?” she said defensively. “He was rash in coming here and was going off about Agatha like a madman. And did you see his face when we mentioned she left, and about the Detective? There’s just something weird there.”

“That’s another thing…He knew about both Agatha _and_ the Detective,” said Lily. “We should go to her and help her. Lord knows she has trouble with the dreaming. It’s why she left in the first place.”

“We are nuns, not warriors,” said Maria.

“We can handle ourselves. Wits and weapons, like Agatha told us.”

“Alma is well and Emily is being watched on and cared for. The convent is safe and prepared for any dangers. We should find Agatha and ensure she and the Detective are safe.”

“I agree,” said Florence.

Maria was uncertain, and her Sisters did their best to convince her.

“Maria, it’s the right—”

“Reckless—”

“-- Right thing to do. We have the address from one of Agatha’s letters. We can travel there, and besides, it would be nice to see the countryside. Don’t you like the countryside, Maria?” said Florence, knowing very well that she did.

“I suppose it _would_ be nice to get out of the convent for a while…” said Maria in her usual melodic voice. “…Breathe in the fresh air along the way, sing songs…” she said.

“Potentially kill vampires …” continued Florence.

“Yes, all those wonderful things,” Lily nodded.

“Alright,” Maria finally caved. “We’ll go.”

“Perfect! I’ll pack the weapons,” said Florence excitedly, already scurrying about the room and collecting some of what Agatha had left for them to protect themselves with.

The three Sisters packed their things and said their quick goodbyes to the others early the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mother Superior: “WHAT IS IT WITH THESE WOMEN?!!!”


	24. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha reminisces on a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented on a chapter that they were from Poland and it got me thinking-  
> Where are you all reading from? Thanks again everyone for reading, kudos, commenting. <3 xoxo

Agatha drifted asleep finally after what felt like too many days and nights without it. She was dreaming of one of her own memories, this time one of _theirs_ , which she had been avoiding, but could not always be helped.

It was another time she had ‘awoken’ to find herself at his castle. Agatha had been wandering around, her curiosity never completely satisfied by the place. There was always some new hall to discover, a new room unexplored. She could picture Jonathan here, lost, trying to keep his sanity.

As usual, Dracula found her, reminding her that she may get lost if she did too much of her solitary exploring. It was by then a normal situation, as they both had become accustomed to these meetings.

At some point in their conversation, the subject had come around to food (not surprising at all). Agatha asked the Count if he wished he could eat something besides blood. But it seemed he didn’t.

“ _The bloodlust never ends_ ,” he had told her. It was much too strong for him to want anything else.

Agatha mentioned something about one of the dinners the Detective had once brought her, and the meals she sometimes cooked at the convent. Somehow after this they had ended up at the kitchen with Dracula intending to cook for her and teach her a new meal, something Romanian. Some sort of soup, or stew.

She helped him, but he did most of the work. He cooked up chicken, some appetizers, and even made desserts. Agatha recognized Dracula’s need to boast and prove himself excelled in nearly everything, and if it weren’t for this, she would’ve thought he was hosting a party with all the food he was preparing.

“Are we having a ball of some sort?” she said, and she imagined what this castle must have looked like once, lively, full of music and brimming with lights. “I’m not going to be able to eat all of this.”

“No, I imagine not,” he chuckled. “But I insist you try a little of everything. You’ll like it.”

Agatha took a sip of the wine, watching him continue his cooking. She had been uncharacteristically distracted, not taking many mental notes, more interested in observing his actions to satisfy the deep assessment of him she constantly sought out.

He indeed had a sharp mind to remember these recipes when he rarely cooked, except when he had his doomed visitors over. Dracula cut the ingredients with precision, pouring vegetables little by little into a pan. Control and precision, she thought.

He cleaned up well, looking like the man he strove to be, once maybe even was. Seemingly physical perfection in the way he presented himself. He seemed like someone who had not ever had a care in the world, had never been touched or affected by anything. It seemed nothing could touch him. It made her wonder--He had known violence his entire life, but had it- or anything ever _truly_ affected him? 

If she had met the Count years ago, when she was younger and much less wise, and without an inkling of who or what he was, she may have even been fooled and charmed by him. How many had come here for him… and ended up killed or worse--becoming _something_ else?

One would never guess at first glance that he was a monster.

Agatha glanced over his hands and the fabric tugging at his forearms, then back to his face when he looked at her.

“Here. Try a little,” he leaned forward and smiled.

Agatha almost moved back. When Dracula looked at her it felt as if he was trying to uncover layers of her thoughts and it was startling. Something she only encountered with him. A problem of this bond unintentionally created.

She noticed he intended to feed her himself with a spoon he held. She immediately took hold of his wrist, and gently took the silverware from him, before trying some of the food. The name of the recipe came to her mind suddenly as she tried it. Ciorba de Burta. That’s what it was.

“It’s good,” she said, placing down the silverware. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook so well, but I should not be surprised. What’s next? After the carrots, the onions, I presume…?”

“You’ve been paying attention,” he smiled.

“I’m trying to keep up with you,” she smirked. “Tell me, have you always been careful with what you eat?”

“Always, Agatha.”

“Is any garlic needed? I believe the recipe requires it,” she said, joking and maybe hoping to get another answer out of him, something that could reveal a weakness. But he avoided it superbly.

“We can do without it,” he smiled again. “After this, maybe you can show me what you nuns keep in your kitchen. I can teach you more, even with limited ingredients.”

“We’ll see.”

She felt oddly suspicious of his intentions, but at that time she wasn’t sure why. Dreams were only dreams, after all. If she was to spend time with him, it wouldn’t hurt to be back where at least she was familiar with her surroundings.

Agatha turned her attention back to the counter to finish chopping the onions. She took the knife in her hand, and momentarily the thought crossed her mind of how he would react if she accidentally cut herself with it. She looked at the Count for a moment and smiled, somehow feeling the thought crossed his mind as well. The mutual feeling and recognition of it was both gravely terrible and amusing at the same time. She looked back down and got to work, quickly chopping the vegetables without incident.

“I wonder what this castle of yours must have been like in its past. Many parties, I presume, and less cobwebs I hope?”

“Not as many parties as you’d think. But they were quite grand.”

“I can imagine. And you with your admirers.”

Dracula looked at her as she said it, dark eyes brimming with amusement, but she didn’t notice much nor think it bold of herself. It was the truth, and instead she thought to ask her next question.

“Did you kill them all?” she inquired, avoiding his gaze.

“No,” he replied. “Some needed a few years to grow a little more…tender.”

“You deliver as always a wonderfully morbid answer to my question.”

“And you love to ask questions, Agatha,” he responded. “It is an endearing quality. But you do remember our deal?”

“Yes. I have nothing to hide.”

He looked down and laughed, moving closer to her. She stood in place, placing one hand on the counter.

“Interesting you’d say that. I believe everyone has something to hide.”

“Again, even if I did, you know almost everything about me by now, don’t you,” she admitted.

“Maybe more than most. Have you ever thought of leaving the convent?”

“Of course,” she answered immediately. “Not as a serious thought to take into consideration, but it has crossed my mind.”

“So it has.”

“It’s easy to picture life outside of it when you look out a window and see so much going on in the world,” she said.

Agatha moved past him and placed the last of the ingredients in the soup as the fire warmed it up. It smelled delicious. Little did she know it would be one of the last times enjoying any human food. Soon it would be all blood…

Agatha jolted awake, frustrated that she had been dreaming about her memories with him in the first place. Whatever connection she had with the vampire, it had taken root deep inside her, and she could feel it constantly tugging at her. Or maybe it was Dracula using his power over her again.

Stefan must have gone out again, and she opened the blinds, hoping for some sunlight but it had gotten dark already. Agatha tried to fight away her irritability, which had been far too prominent lately, by trying to cook. She looked to see what food Stefan had around the place and managed to make a less flavorful version of the soup along with some chicken for the Detective to enjoy. Making use of otherwise useless memories.


	25. Wits and Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: The Sisters find Agatha and advise her that the husband is looking for her (LOL)

“Something smells good,” said Stefan when he entered the room.

“I hope so,” she said. “I can’t really tell. I’ve been averse to actual food these days…”

Her newer, stronger vampire traits were a double-edged sword of sorts. The soup smelled fine but not as good as the one the Count had made. This annoyed her immensely.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” he said, trying some of it with a spoon. “It is. The garlic adds a nice taste too.”

“Thank you.”

Stefan offered a small smile as Agatha quickly served him some of it along with some of the other food she made. She was trying to keep busy, not much in the mood for conversation.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though she didn’t feel that way at all. “I got some sleep at least.”

“That’s good. Are you sure you’re ok? Maybe you need more blood?” he said very casually.

“No.” She knew it wasn’t that at all. It was a combination of many things, and the Count was still affecting her state of mind, intentionally or not. Part of her wanted to crawl back to him, cave into bad habits.

“It’s none of that. Don’t worry about me. Just eat,” she said, with a quick forced smile.

Stefan sat down on the small table and ate as Agatha cleaned up and put away some of the extra ingredients she had left over. He insisted on helping her, but she was keen on staying busy.

“How was your day?” she said after a quick sigh, trying to be polite and get in better spirits.

“Not as productive as I would’ve hoped,” he said. “We discovered another body. The corpses are becoming more, well…grotesque.”

He ate and spoke very casually, apparently used to seeing so many crimes in his life. It was a normal part of his work. It was something else that seemed to be bothering him.

“…Agatha,” he said, “Did you know there have been reports of the dead rising? _Rising_ , as in from their graves?”

She looked at him, knowing where the conversation was headed. She had warned him about it. She didn’t think it was a good idea if he were to see the person who was once his wife, changed and tied down to the will of the Count.

“Meaning the transitions…may have gone unnoticed. And Catherine may not be gone.”

It was the first time he had mentioned her name. Agatha sat down across him.

“Stefan, if it’s true…” she sighed, trying to be simultaneously as sympathetic and straightforward as possible. Something she sometimes had trouble with.

“She isn’t here anymore. It wouldn’t be her, as she was when she was alive.”

“How could you say that?”

“I am saying it because it is the truth. Don’t you agree that it is?”

“But look at you. You’re—You’re doing fine.” he frowned, looking angry for once, and it surprised her. “He perfected you. What makes you think you can have what she doesn’t?”

“Stefan,” she said, unmoved. “Listen to me. That is not what I am saying.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” he said meekly as he avoided her gaze.

She sighed, touching his arm to provide some sort of comfort.

“I know it is painful to accept what happened. But what I am saying is…it is likely much too late to save her. If she is a vampire, then she has been years under Dracula’s control. And seeing her again may hinder your judgement. It could kill you.”

A knock on the door interrupted them.

“Are you expecting someone?” Stefan asked her but she nodded.

He went to open the door and the innkeeper was there, holding an oil lamp.

“Hello sir…and Sister Agatha, correct?” he said, as he looked past the Detective to the nun. “I’m sorry to disturb you but there are, well, three nuns downstairs looking for you…Is there some sort of Catholic festival in town?”

“Well…It would seem so,” answered Stefan.

“And I don’t know how serious you nuns are, but I thought you should know. They weren’t as rigid about the rules. They walked in without any invitation,” he said accusingly.

“Oh,” Agatha laughed. “Yes, they are still in training.”

“Are you to have all these nuns in this one room? It is spacious enough, but is it…well…appropriate…”

“Sir,” said Agatha, standing abruptly and walking up next to the Detective. “Can you please send them up, or would you need me to go downstairs?”

“I’ll send them up, of course. One moment,” he said, and Agatha was relieved to see him go on his way.

When the Sisters arrived, Agatha gave them all a quick hug and they greeted Stefan.

“What are you all doing here? Is everything ok? How are the others?” she asked.

“Everyone is ok,” said Maria. “Well, I don’t know about Emily. She was still very sick when we left her, but everyone knows to take precautions. And, uh…”

The three looked back to Stefan.

“Uh, Detective, can you please excuse us for a moment?”

“Florence, it’s his room,” whispered Lily.

“It’s alright. I’ll take a walk and be back,” he smiled. “I’ll try to see if there’s a spare room. Otherwise you ladies can stay here.”

“Thank you,” they muttered.

Once he left, Agatha went over to her bed, and sat down. Lily, Florence, and Maria seemed to relax and they sat at the table nearby, where the Detective had just been dining at.

“You shouldn’t have left the convent,” Agatha continued. “There have been more murders. It isn’t safe.”

“Agatha, it’s ok. Wits and weapons, remember? We brought both. And we had an exciting journey,” said Florence. “We’ve brought stakes and everything. And…we saw one of them, you know. Well, more than one…”

“A vampire?”

“Yes, a vampire,” replied Maria. “When we went to the cemetery to leave flowers for Lily’s father-“

“Look,” said Florence, interrupting as she took out a stake from the small bag she brought with her. It was stained with blood. Florence seemed giddy and excited over it, and Agatha wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but she could relate to the younger nun’s enthusiasm.

“He tried to attack Maria, and I got him.”

“Oh, Agatha, it was terrible and he looked like an animal, nothing human,” said Maria.

Agatha took the stake from Florence and inspected it, before putting it down.

“Was it immediate? The death?” she asked.

“No,” said Florence as she went to sit beside Agatha. Florence proceeded to begin braiding her hair, something she had always seemed to like to do at the convent. Agatha, not very reserved in the slightest herself, never really minded it.

“He screamed when I did it, and he fell, coughed out blood. But in about less than a minute or so he was dead. Double dead, anyway.”

“Enough with the gory details Florence,” said Lily. “Agatha, we’re here for you, and also because…well…someone came to the convent to see you.”

“What?”

“Yes, he said his name was Mr. Balaur?”

The Sisters saw Agatha’s face redden in a combination of horror and fury.

“Did anyone invite him inside the convent?”

“No, no of course not. He was at the gates…” continued Lily. “That was…Count Dracula, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. “What happened? You must tell me everything.”

“We sent him away,” said Maria. “Don’t worry, he didn’t enter and nobody was hurt. He said he was a friend of yours and the Detective’s. Agatha, he seemed very eager to find you.”

“I told him very clearly not to ever come back to the convent. But of course, he goes back without a second thought. He needs to be taught obedience,” Agatha remarked, and she quickly slammed a fist on the nightstand, breaking the wood. It infuriated her that he disobeyed the last request she made of him. The nuns were quiet for a moment as Agatha saw what she had done and quickly regretted it.

“The super strength is very much alive, isn’t it…” chuckled Florence nervously, in reaction to Agatha’s sudden display of physical power.

“I apologize. I’ve been irritable lately, and this news isn’t helping.”

“Well he didn’t seem intent on entering the convent. He was just very interested in getting to you,” said Maria. “He asked where we could find you, and of course, we didn’t say a word about it. But there was something severely wrong with him.”

“Yes,” Agatha responded. “There are many things severely wrong with him. But never mind that for now. Thank you for being here.”

She smiled genuinely.

“Of course.”

“So Agatha,” said Florence, as she finished the braid on her Sister’s hair. “What else can you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“The fun vampire tricks.”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure. I haven’t practiced much. And no,” she smiled, practically reading Florence’s mind. “I will not show you any fangs.”

“Fine, but you should practice—”

“Florence,” said Maria and Lily simultaneously. “No.”

“She should! Wouldn’t it be good to practice your…skills? Sometimes at least,” Florence shrugged, raising her eyebrows.

Agatha gave that a thought before responding.

“Well I’ll show you something I can do.”

“What?” said Maria curiously.

“Wait and I’ll show you.”

“What is it?” said Florence. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Wait a moment, I am a vampire, not a magician,” said Agatha.

A few more moments passed.

“It is getting misty in here isn’t it?” said Lily, with a small cough.

“Exactly,” said Agatha, as the whole room flooded with fog so thick they could hardly see each other now.

The Sisters were all wide eyed and trying to put their hands through the fog, as if it were some falsity. Florence gasped in excitement.

“Oh my goodness! That’s so strange.”

Agatha smiled.

“Yes. Always carry the weather with you,” she said, before frowning at the words. They were not her own, and Dracula’s blood in her veins seemed to bring evidence of him to the surface sometimes. Agatha changed the subject as she focused on eliminating the fog.

“Are you ladies hungry?” she asked, changing the subject.

The Sisters feigned feeling just fine, but as soon as Agatha served them plates of food they devoured it all. Agatha was glad to see nothing had gone to waste.

“Who taught you this? The soup is particularly good. I don’t recall having had this at the convent,” said Maria between mouthfuls.

“A friend,” she smiled, though she knew who she spoke of was no friend at all.

By the end of the night, Stefan had gotten a room for the nuns, but Agatha insisted on sleeping away from them for their own protection. So she stayed with Stefan, and tried to get some more rest.

Florence was right in some way—she should make use of whatever power she had gained along with her vampirism, and become a master of it.

And Agatha was tired of allowing dreams or memories harbor any control over her or her feelings.

Determined to calm herself, she caved in--determined to test her own control over herself, and her control over this bond with him, maybe even Dracula himself. She was too curious not to try, and it was becoming all too tempting to deny herself the opportunity. So she relaxed back in bed that night and tried her best to do what she did best--Focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the author - Please read! - https://flowersindistress.tumblr.com/post/623461597859414016/note-from-the-author-listen-the-2-things-i-suck


	26. Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha goes on to practice a little of her improved powers. (: Dracula is trying to have a good time. And Agatha is ruining(?) it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ It's a little intense so…Enjoy?  
> Btw, this chapter was the first Dragatha I wrote (now revised), which inspired me to write out this story. ]

Agatha and the Detective were difficult to find, and truly, it should not matter. Dracula had been successful in nearly everything else. Agatha was a conflict, a flaw in his plan in coming here to England.

She had tried to kill him too many times. Dracula could picture the scene as she stabbed him, her intent to kill regardless of whatever bond they shared. And he had gotten close enough to give her the chance.

She had denied him of her presence long enough, weeks now, run off with the Detective after their last encounter. And his wondering where she was, what she was doing, was constant and debilitating. He was sick of thinking about her, and needed to stop this, seep her out of his mind.

It was highly alarming—the recognition of how deeply she woven herself not only in his veins but under his skin. It was a mistake to have even had her blood at all. Even now, with his current company, she seemed to twist at him. Whatever it was that tied their souls together, he wanted no part of it anymore.

" _Slow down, Count_."

Agatha's voice made him stop his movements momentarily. It was as if his body had been trained to respond, and submit to it. Hearing her again after a lon deprivation of her shook him to his core and he swallowed hard. Dracula wasn't sure if it was Agatha, or if his mind (lately not his sharpest) was so far gone he was hallucinating. This was not too far-fetched a theory at this point.

" _At that pace, she won't finish before you_ ," she continued smugly.

It had been decades since he’d last done this, and this was definitely a new experience, hearing voices in his head as he fucked his neighbor, who happened to be a bored housewife who lived nearby. Her name was something simple, pretty…Natalie? Nora?

“I’m doing just fine,” he said as he continued pushing inside her with the same eager pace he had before. He noted he could very well be arguing with himself.

“What?” asked the woman, between quick pants as she moved beneath him.

“Nothing,” he reassured.

“ _I forgot, this is just for your pleasure isn’t it, not hers_ ,” corrected Agatha, her voice clearer now. He knew she was there now, could almost breathe in her perfume.

“ _Or maybe you don’t know how to satisfy anybody except yourself?”_

But that couldn’t be true. At least she had to be enjoying this, taunting him while he tried to get off.

“I can,” he huffed.

Natalie opened her eyes in confusion.

“What?”

“ _Now you’re scaring her off_.” He heard her laugh. It was deliberate humiliation, and he couldn’t even see her. He hated her for it. “ _She isn’t going to last like that. If you’re so quick with her_.”

“Agatha, please,” _let me be,_ he finished the sentence in his mind.

“No, my name is N-“

Dracula placed a hand over the woman’s mouth, in some sad attempt to stop both her voice and Agatha’s voice from flowing through his head--and that seemed to do the trick for a moment. Of course, a nun would be in his head to ruin this for him. If there was a God, He had a sense of humor.

He muffled Natalie (Nora’s) soft moans and did as Agatha said—he slowed down his pace, pushing deliciously slow as he ran his hands over his neighbor’s body…whatever her name was--taking time to lick her collarbone up to her neck. She moaned loudly, moving around more restlessly, running her nails along his chest.

“ _See? That’s better_ ,” Agatha said.

“I told you I can satisfy,” he said, and he didn’t register anything else—Natalie (Nora?) didn’t even seem to hear his words as she enjoyed his touches and movements more and more.

Dracula inhaled sharply, let thoughts of Agatha flood his senses, feeling a relieving release on his mind as he did so. The ecstasy of not denying his thoughts made him feel better—made this feel better.

 _“Did you miss me?”_ he heard her say, mocking him again.

“Yes.”

He thought of walking over to her during their decent enough conversations in his dining room in their dreams, laying her out like a meal and filling her there, in the worst and dirtiest of ways—He thought of sliding his hands up the back of her thighs after she fed him her blood in front of the fireplace, and tasting her somewhere new as he pierced her skin with his nails. The thought of taking what he wanted. Having her underneath him, hearing her moan for him. He thought of her taunting him as she did even now. And of making her feel as desperate as she made him. Weaving his way so deeply inside her that he would touch her soul, and she would never be able to escape him again. The thoughts he didn’t even realize he had repressed.

He didn’t notice the actual woman underneath him was already writhing in her own release.

“ _Come, boy_ ,” he heard Agatha say, and with a quick lick of his lips he came immediately, chest heaving and his forehead sweating. He felt particularly mortal.


	27. Weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Agatha goes on a beach day with her Sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hid a Disney lyric. Lmk if you find it lol

Agatha jolted awake. That was…different and alarming. In the very least, she had gained an advantage, being able to invade his space and mind like he did hers, and even speak to him. She could see how Dracula felt invincible with such power over his victims. Agatha herself felt slightly intoxicated by such power. The usage of her newfound strengths made her feel almost invincible, and she indulged in them even more at seeing him weak.

She didn’t know what got into her even entertaining the situation the way she did, however. She got up from bed abruptly when she heard a knock on the door and tried to calm her breathing before she answered.

“Hi Agatha!” said Florence excitedly.

The Sisters were determined to get Agatha out of this place for a day of simple enjoyment. She looked flushed and a bit frazzled when she opened the door, and this convinced the women that she needed the day out.

“Are you alright?” asked Maria. “You look a bit overwhelmed.”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” said Agatha.

“Bad dreams?” asked Florence. “About—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Agatha abruptly. “Has something happened?”

“No, nothing’s happened,” said Maria. “But we are going to the beach.”

“Now?” asked Agatha.

“Yes,” said Florence, jumping a bit. She was obviously very excited. “Have you ever been to the beach? Aside from when you washed ashore?”

“No…well, once,” she said, remembering that one time the Count had brought her there, when she had felt the sand and sea foam.

“Maria and Florence have never been to the beach, can you imagine?” said Lily. “It’s such a nice day outside, and we are fairly close, so we figured--Unless…that’s a problem? The sun…?”

In truth Agatha was beginning to develop an aversion to the light, but it didn’t exactly harm her. She figured it would be nice to see the ocean in the daytime and test how much the sun really affected her…She had barely gone out these days, except for dinner (or at least a semblance of it) with Stefan.

“I don’t think it is much of a problem,” Agatha smiled, still seemingly trying to catch her breath. “We’ll go.”

“Morning Agatha, who is it?” asked Stefan, stepping into the doorway. His hair was still wet from his morning bath. “Oh, good morning.” He smiled when he saw the three Sisters.

“Detective, we are going to the beach,” said Florence. “And you are invited. You look like you could use a day off," she said, noting the dark circles under his eyes.

“Maybe another time. I have some business to attend to today.”

“Would you like me to stay? I could help.”

“Agatha,” he said smiling. “You’ve done so much already. Enjoy yourself.”

He kissed her on the cheek.

In spite of the fact that they didn’t have any appropriate beachwear, the four women took the train to the seashore. It was a perfectly bright day, and the ocean was such a beautiful sight that the Sisters didn’t much notice (nor care) that many people were staring at the four women in nun habits.

Braving the sun was not an easy task and Agatha found herself looking down at the sand to avoid the bright sky. She was determined to grow accustomed to it again and not allow Dracula’s weaknesses to compel her completely. She sat down at the shore and looked out to sea, digging her fingers into the sand as the sea foam touched her ankles.

She tried to stay under the beach umbrella Florence had acquired for them, which provided a comfortable shade.

Agatha wasn’t sure if the ocean was more beautiful in the night, under the moonlight, or as it was now, under the sun. But it certainly was a sight to behold. If Dracula could see it now…

“So tell me,” said Florence, sitting next to her. Maria and Lily were walking deeper in the water, their habits pulled up slightly. “How is it going with him?”

“There is nothing going on with him, Florence,” she said. “I am not that foolish. For God’s sake, he’s a vampire.”

“Oh. I meant with the hospitable detective,” Florence said, looking at her with slight amusement. “Since you’ve continued to spend so much time with him, of course.”

“Oh, yes of course. It’s perfectly fine, as always.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she smiled.

“You would never participate in any, well, salacious activities.”

Agatha laughed. “Salacious? No, of course not. I’m a nun, remember?” she smirked.

“Except in dreams of course.”

“SO Florence,” Agatha said abruptly, raising her voice. “How do you like the beach?”

The younger Sister noted Agatha was strangely and intensely avoidant of the subject, when she was usually quite the opposite, even joking about such matters.

“It’s lovely,” she answered. “We should step inside, with the others.”

“Go on. I will join you in a minute,” Agatha smiled.

“Actually...I was thinking…”

“A dangerous past time.”

“I know,” said Florence raising her eyebrows. “May I ask you something personal?”

“You may,” said Agatha, who was staring out at the waves.

“Has Count Dracula been…pestering you again?”

“In some ways,” she clarified. “He is always reaching out but I am able to fight it more with my elevated strengths. He is always a conflict, Florence. It is a result of being one of his, well…turned.

“Are you sure it’s just that?”

“What do you mean?” asked Agatha as she directed her attention again towards her Sister.

“You told us once there was a deeper bond of sorts.”

“Yes,” she said. “We had each other’s blood.”

“That night at the convent?”

“Before that. On the ship.” said Agatha, scoffing. “Can you believe he reckoned I should thank him for such a thing? He thinks it is how I survived that night of the explosion.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“It is a miracle either way that you’re here,” continued Florence. “But I have a theory if you’ll bear with me. You don’t think there’s a possibility he might be you know…”

“What?”

“You know, like...”

“Well get to it, Florence. I’d rather not continue giving this topic more attention than it needs.”

“Alright well I think he’s got…like…Agatha fever,” she said, rushing through her words before breaking out into a short nervous chuckle, which Agatha recognized was something she did when nervous.

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean—you know,” Florence said, looking down to the sand as if Agatha would somehow ‘get it.’ Consequently, she seemed to, and her eyes widened for a moment as she understood what the girl was implying.

“Oh, no no—"

“I mean, Agatha, maybe it’s something you can use to your advantage--”

“Let me stop you there, Florence. I know what you saw that night at the convent was a convincing gentleman. He looks that way, doesn’t he? Unless he showed up there displaying his manhood and covered in blood.”

“Yes, he looked perfectly—wait, is that what happened at the other convent?” asked Florence, her eyes widening. “We didn’t get that show…”

“Yes, but not the point--”

“He looked very good, Agatha,” she stated plainly.

“Yes, nature is cruel that way,” she said. “But you must not think of him like that, Florence. The Count is first and foremost not human. He is incapable of such complex feelings. Think of him as an animal. He is a…carnal creature.”

Florence took a breath and gave her a light nod.

“However,” stated Agatha curiously. “You might be on to something with the Agatha fever.”

“Really?” said Florence, smiling at the hint of approval in her Sister’s tone.

“Yes, but it may not be so much Agatha fever as bride fever. Perhaps it is natural he harbors a possessiveness over those he considers his “brides”. Just as his brides are affected by him, he might be affected in some way, and it may not be entirely in his control. Explaining why he sought me out so constantly… Or--!” said Agatha excitedly, pointing at her, going from theory to theory in her head.

“Or, he may want to keep them close to harbor his control over them, same as he did with Jonathan. You may have uncovered a weakness, Florence.”

“All sound theories.”

“Well, enough of this talk for now,” said Agatha, now in a happier mood. “I will not spend our day talking about that…monster. You wanted to go into the water. Shall we?”

Agatha stood up and held out her hand to her Sister. Florence took it and they walked into the water after edging up the skirts of their habits to their knees.

The water was much different from how it was that night she had touched it alongside the Count. It was very warm, relieving. Agatha remembered Dracula’s obvious elation at touching the sun on her. Yes, he would much prefer the ocean now, touched by sun, bright and inviting. She smiled and caught herself immediately before thinking any further of it.


	28. Insatiable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha ‘finds’ Dracula again and questions him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are curious about last chapter's hidden Disney lyrics (one reader figured it out :) :
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KqF93NyoMo (right at the beginning! :)  
> \--  
> “Actually...I was thinking…”  
> “A dangerous past time.”  
> “I know,” said Florence raising her eyebrows. “May I ask you something personal?” --

Agatha knew she would seek him out again. It wasn’t a matter of if but of when. She also knew how disturbing and unnatural this was--To be obsessively thinking about a creature like him. Their shared connection was eating away at her, especially when she constantly felt so much of him reaching out to her. She believed Dracula had become intent on ruining her life, possessive over those he considered his brides, as she had discussed with Sister Florence.

She would question him. Find out why he had dared to go back to the convent, figure out if her theory of his weakness was correct. She worried her need to look for him again was only an excuse to give in to the instinctive need to keep him around, but she tried to disregard the idea.

She leaned against the wall beside her bed, closed her eyes and concentrated, giving in to their connection. And it was very easy that night to find him again, just like it was easy to find him last time he was otherwise, well, engaged.

When she opened her eyes again, Agatha looked down a hallway she had never been in before. This must be his home here in England, she thought. Curiosity—and the smell of blood—made her want to step inside his world and outside of hers. But she tried her best to stay in her own surroundings and keep up a wall of some sort.

The smell of blood was strong and she felt hungry. Agatha stepped closer to the darkness when she saw Dracula on the floor, his back to her as he fed off of the same woman she had seen him with recently.

The noises of his messy feeding disturbed her—the suckling and low growls as he feasted on the woman. Agatha felt fear as she saw the empty shell of what was once a soul lying there, knowing the Count was the cause of her death.

Agatha couldn’t bring herself to look away from him as he fed; a terrible act she was in some way fascinated by. He moved like an animal, his back muscles flexing as he eagerly lapped up and suckled on whatever life was left of the poor woman.

A strange feeling came over her and Agatha felt her hunger becoming satisfied by the second. She had the horrible realization that this was benefiting her, his own feeding connected to her and sating her own hunger somehow. She pressed a hand to her stomach, sensing a fullness, and frowned, backing away.

She saw it when he became aware of her presence. Dracula pulled away from the woman’s neck and raised his head to inhale sharply. He stood and turned to her abruptly--his chin and white shirt stained with the woman’s blood. Agatha quickly took a few steps back, catching herself and holding on to the corner of her bedframe. She needed to stay in the safety of her own surroundings, still with her.

“Agatha-“ He moved towards her in a quick urgency that took her aback.

“Stay back,” she said, and he came to a halt.

Dracula noticed she was fully dressed in her convent’s blue habits same as when he had first met her. He hadn’t seen her like this in a while. The cross around her neck kept him at a safe distance in case he managed to get through to her somehow. But some invisible barrier was between them, separating them. She appeared to be in a room he didn’t recognize, probably the place she was sharing with the Detective.

“Where are you?” he said weakly. “Where have you been?”

“That’s of no concern to you.”

He wiped the blood from his face on the arm of his shirt, streaks of the liquid grazing the side of his face.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” Agatha scoffed, her attention fixed on his latest feeding. “You’re insatiable. Feeding off the same woman you were frolicking with only a few nights ago.”

“She came back for seconds. How could I resist?”

“Yes, how could I forget? You have trouble resisting anything,” she answered.

“Come here.” he said suddenly.

The look on his face was strange, as was his tone and demeanor, and Agatha couldn’t decipher it. Agatha was surprised at his demand and thought he must be insane if he believed she would oblige.

“I’m not going anywhere near you.”

“Ah,” he smiled. “I’ve learned something about you. You like to watch.” He raised his eyebrows. “But not participate.”

“Watch your tongue,” she stated before changing the subject. “I want to know why you thought it wise to go to the convent when I specifically told you never to go back.”

“I didn’t harm any of them-”

“Not the point.”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why?” she asked, her tone serious as she tried to appear unaffected.

He hesitated before answering.

“You know why.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to. You told me once you wanted to travel to England to, and I will quote you on this,” she smirked, “eat some atheists, and yet you keep binging on the nuns. You seem almost intent on ruining my life…Whatever your twisted reasoning is, you aren’t getting any more of them. They know about you now, and I left them prepared to kill you,” she said harshly.

“This isn’t about them,” he said, raising his voice, obviously annoyed now.

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“If you hadn’t disappeared--after you tried to kill me, by the way--I wouldn’t have needed to go over there, but you decided to stay away and run off with your little friend.”

“Of course I did.”

“Alright,” he said raising his hands in surrender. “I just want to stop all this and-“

“And you’d like me to allow you to lurk around in my life? No more of that. Besides, I’m in much better company these days.”

“Agatha, that’s enough—" he rushed over so quickly she stepped back once more on instinct.

Dracula wasn’t able to step much closer, however. It was the same feeling…barrier, as when he wasn’t invited in somewhere. Agatha on the other hand was surprised. She wasn’t expecting such a reaction from a simple statement, but she made sense of it quickly, her analytical mind connecting the dots.

“…Oh.” She said, and he sensed some sort of realization from her. “My Sisters were right. There is something wrong with you. Aside from the obvious, of course. Yes…” she said, pausing to think over her conclusion. She remembered her discussion with Florence.

“It takes some sort of toll on you doesn’t it? You are extremely possessive of your supposed ‘brides.’ That’s why you are so upset at your inability to find me.”

“You expect me to explain myself to you?” he said, not trying much to hide his agitation anymore.

“Does that make you feel something? Harboring control over your victims?”

“Come here and I’ll show you how I feel.”

She tilted her head and observed him.

“Why would I go anywhere near you?” It was strange being around him like this, his behavior more erratic than the usual. “You really do enjoy being invasive, don’t you...”

“Oh, I haven’t shown you invasive.”

“No?”

“Contrary to what you may believe, it wasn’t always in my control, these little meetings of ours…” he said defensively. “How do you think I got there in the first place? Sometimes you were practically calling to me. You let me in…In fact, I find it amusing that you have the nerve to call me invasive,” he continued darkly, “When you’re the one getting in my head when I’m trying to-.”

“And how do you think I got there in the first place?” she interrupted, throwing his own words back at him. “You were practically calling to me. You let me in.”

He was silent for a moment. It wasn’t like he could argue against that, anyhow. And he hated, if at all, partly loved, how well she could argue. He licked his top lip and looked down at the vast space between them, which he was so tempted to close. He wanted so badly get through to her to pull up this skirt of hers, this fabric that represented her faith and devotion to God, and feel her, taste her--something. Maybe kill her. That would simplify the whole situation. But he didn’t dare touch her—couldn’t even if he tried. He felt his chest ache with the restraint of denying himself what he wanted.

In the quick second he looked over her he wondered if she was responsible for planting these seeds in his mind through their connection, or her newfound powers. And she had just said it: “You let me in.”

“What are you doing?” he asked suddenly.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” She couldn’t mask her confusion, unsure how to deal with his erratic nature. His sudden statements and demands that seemed to make little sense.

“Why were there the other night? What are you trying to do to me?”

“I have been living my life, Count Dracula. That is all.” she regarded him as informally as she could, her voice stern. “The other night, I was just practicing. It’s been very exciting having your strengths. Your blood has given me so much more than I anticipated. Thank you for that. Maybe I can actually kill you next time, unless the Detective kills you first.”

She saw his jaw clench and some unrecognizable fury mask his features. 

“Maybe I’ll kill you first,” he said. “If I get my hands on you again-“

“Don’t threaten me when I can bend you into compliance with a single drop of blood,” she said harshly.

“If you’re so confident you wouldn’t be over there keeping a wall between us.”

“Fine,” she said, momentary recklessness taking her over. She was too confident in her own abilities by now, and did not like to be undermined, even by him. “Go ahead then. I’ll let you entertain the notion.”

“What are you saying?”

“You should be able to get through to me if you’re so almighty and powerful. So go on and try. I don’t even have weapons this time,” she said. “I’ll tell you what. If you are able to get to me right now, you can do whatever you want to me.”

She knew she could fail, that this was a terrible idea, but she couldn’t help wanting to see how it would play out. Would he be able to cross through? He was seemingly unable to without her complete willingness. Would he try to bite her again, drain her and kill her? She doubted he would, but she wondered if she could stop him if he tried.

The Count’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, until his gaze ran to her chest, where her cross was, protecting her. Agatha looked down at it.

“Oh, that’s what’s stopping you?” She wrapped her fingers around the necklace and pulled it off her. Agatha looked at the symbol in her hand, as if inspecting it for something she had missed. Ridiculing him in her own way of his fears and repulsion.

“I had almost forgotten how weak you are to such a thing…but I am going to making things easy for you.”

She seemed relaxed enough, but her eyes were fixed on him, prepared for whatever came next. Though sometimes her confidence was misguided, she felt much too empowered and couldn’t resist the chance of showing her own control, when he had so many times disturbed her in dreams and even reality. With a small smile she placed her rosary down on the bed beside her.

“Let’s see you try,” she said softly, for the first time in the night regarding him with something other than cold detachment. Her curiosity and testing of his strengths and weaknesses seemed to excite her.

Dracula gave her a small smirk and stayed in place, giving her time to take a few steps back. He observed her like prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and she felt she was doing the same. Trying to keep her attention on him lest she break her concentration.

He suddenly rushed to her, managing to get through whatever barrier she had put up, proof of his own power. But when he reached her she was gone, and he was alone again in the darkness of his own hallway.


	29. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Someone says I love you.

Stefan had left Agatha a note that he would be away a few days, but had not told her he was this close to finding the vampire. He didn’t want her there endangering herself anymore. Once he was in Purfleet, one of the quieter towns in Essex, Stefan was able to find the castle easily. A contact of his led him there, having advised him that medieval homes like the ones he was looking for would be in Purfleet.

Before he walked into the open courtyard, Stefan compared the place one more time to the pictures Agatha had given him. It was an exact mirror image of what she had sketched out for him.

Carfax Abbey was an eerie, enormous place and the courtyard’s gates were closed but unlocked. Even still, the place did not look inviting at all.

Stefan recognized that he should wait until morning. No doubt it would be the right thing to do since it was almost sundown. But Stefan was full of eager determination to find the vampire responsible for his wife’s death. He counted on his own spite and vengeance strong enough to kill the Count and was not going to wait another dawn or dusk to pass to do it.

As he stepped on the grounds he observed the overgrown grass with patches of brown dirt spread unevenly. He half expected to fall into a patch of dirt, that it was some sort of trick, empty hollowness among hard ground.

The night became misty, and gradually as he walked the grounds it became unnaturally quiet.

He saw someone in the distance, walking slowly towards him and he felt compelled to do the same. His grip weakened on the stake he held as he recognized her. She was his wife—it had to be. She even wore the dress she was buried in, but she was not herself at all. She looked like the other vampires he had seen…Like a monster, patches of skin missing, her eyes black and dead, skin grey and purple in tone.

Her face softened when she saw him, her facial expressions revealing some humanity she had left.

“It’s you,” he said as he reached her. He was too shocked, too relieved to see her, to acknowledge the danger of it at first. “Catherine, do you remember me?”

“I remember you,” she said after a momentary silence. It seemed to take her time to register his words, and her eyes did not regard him with love, or hatred, but indifference.

When he didn’t move forward, she stepped even closer. Whatever caution was left in him kept him in place. He hesitated though emotions poured over him, rendering him speechless for a moment at hearing her voice.

“You do remember me?” he asked again.

“Yes. Stefan. Do you see what I’ve become?”

“It’s ok. We’re leaving this place. Now,” he said, abandoning his original plan.

Stefan decided he would do what he could to save her. He knew somewhere deep inside that this was wrong. But he didn’t care about anything anymore, not Agatha’s warnings and not about revenge. Only getting her out of here.

“Leaving?”

“Yes. We can go away. I’ll help you…I’ll fix you,” he said, hurrying her to follow him.

“I can’t leave. I can never leave.” The words were a whisper, which seemed to pain her.

“Yes, we can. We’ll go quickly. Trust me. I’ll take care of you, Catherine, I’ll do better this time.”

His voice broke at his last words but she remained indifferent to them. She stared, unmoving before she reached out her arms to him and smiled, her teeth sharp as knives when she did.

Stefan took a step back and she frowned, confused that he looked at her as a threat.

“Please, come to me,” she insisted.

He looked at her hands, her sharp fingernails and her unnatural smile. He knew she was surrendered to her master. But if he could change that, find a way to fix her…

“I won’t hurt you,” she said, her speech more fluid now. “Trust me and I’ll trust you. You don’t need it.” She said motioning to the stake. “I’ll go with you.”

“You—you’re one of his.”

“I won’t be. I love you. Trust me,” she said weakly, and it broke him. He wanted to believe her.

“I love you too.”

She reached out her arms to him again.

“I won’t hurt you,” she said. “I need to know.”

He walked slowly to her and as soon as he reached her and held her hands in his, he embraced her. She felt light, like he could break her easily if he held her too hard. But there was strength in her when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s ok. We’ll find a way to fix you,” he whispered. He would. They just had to get out of there first. “Let’s go. Whatever happened in the past, I don’t care.”

“No. I’m sorry,” she said again.

“Why?”

She was silent again for a moment. When she spoke again, she did not sound like herself.

“You are food for my master,” she said, and when Stefan realized he had been a fool it was too late. Catherine took his neck in a deathly grip and bit into his flesh.

He was so shocked at first that he didn’t move. Then then began to struggle against her, but her strength was supernatural and he could barely maneuver away. Stefan managed finally to push her away, a chunk of his flesh still on her mouth. He stumbled backwards but stood up quickly and ran before she could lay her hands on him again.

Stefan wasn’t even sure where he was headed--to the castle or to the exit—he only thought of running far away. He knew he would die soon, but the adrenaline kept him going and he thought of bleeding out somewhere Catherine wouldn’t see him suffer or die, if part of her humanity was still there somewhere.

It was difficult to see through the fog which was much thicker now, and Stefan could barely make out the gates of the estate. Though he ran as quick as he could, he felt he was not getting any closer, and the combination of his blood loss and the heavy fog was making him weary.

He realized he had also left his stake on the ground. Where was crucifix Agatha had given him? Had he dropped that or had Catherine taken it away from him somehow without him realizing it? Did he even remember to bring other weapons besides the stake? He needed to get out—he had been reckless and unprepared.

Something interrupted him as he tried to run further. He almost bumped into something in the mist.

“Hello.”

Stefan stumbled back again as he heard the voice and saw a figure emerge from the fog. He felt frozen in place and had not the mind—or the weapons—to defend himself with.

“I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Before he could react, Dracula placed his hands on his face and wrung his neck.

“ _Not really_.”


	30. Little Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Someone gets stabbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the last chapter's comments. <3

Stefan awoke in a dungeon. There was nothing but some lanterns lit by candlelight embedded with cobwebs and weapons held up on the wall opposite him in decorum. He was nearly too weak to move. He forced himself to sit up, trying to remember how he ended up here.

Stefan observed his fingernails which were loose, scraping and edging out of his skin. And he was missing a few already. He almost gagged at the sight and as the memories quickly came back to him he realized who he had been made a prisoner of.

He heard the heavy door across the room unlock and creak open and saw his murderer.

“Ah, you’re awake,” sighed the Count, as if disappointed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d wake or not.”

“You killed me.”

“Yes,” he replied, “I couldn’t resist.”

Dracula browsed the items on the wall and took one of the swords in his hand.

“And you turned me…” added Stefan.

“Actually, your wife did that. I only did the killing part.”

As he walked around the room, Dracula didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by him. And why should he be. The Detective had no weapons and was in his weakest state. The Count paced around the room holding onto the sword perhaps as a way to scare him, or maybe even simply out of boredom.

“Catherine…” As Stefan said her name and looked at Dracula, he realized maybe he really could fix her. The Count was just as Agatha had described. Much too human. Alert, alive. There had to be a way.

“Release Catherine and me. Please,” he said. “I won’t go after you again.”

“Why? You’re undead, and so is she. Wouldn’t you be risking everyone if I let you go?” Dracula said, raising his eyebrows at the Detective who seemed to tense at his every word.

“I’ll find a way to fix it. I-I love her. Please.”

He scoffed in disbelief at his ridiculous words.

“She doesn’t even love you,” he responded. “In fact, I did not know she was anything of yours until you showed up here,” he laughed. “She wasn’t thinking of you. You did brighten up her demeanor quite a bit though.”

The Count gave a quick smile and turned from him, making his way to the door again.

“Why…Why am I still here?” he asked him.

“See now, that’s the good part about your little death not being the end of you. You’re my bait,” he said as he walked away. “And you may be useful later.”

“Bait?” he questioned, thinking it over, before he realized. “For Agatha.”

He was surprised to see the vampire stop when he mentioned the name. The Count was now seemingly interested, and Stefan felt maybe he had uncovered something important. He was nearing him again, and the Detective wondered if he was about to be questioned by him about her.

“No. No, you’re not bringing her here. I won’t let you,” he nearly shouted at him.

The Count looked back at him.

“And how are you going to stop me?”

At Stefan’s desperate look of panic, the Count smiled again.

“I thought so.”

Just as the Count reached the door, Stefan stopped him with his words, infuriated.

“So what then? Why do you want her here? First Catherine, then Agatha?!” he shouted. “What do you want to bring Agatha here for? Or do you just like having my leftovers?”

Those were probably not the wisest words for him to say to the Count, who swiftly impaled him in the chest with the sword he held. The pain was searing, burning, but Stefan was barely bleeding.

“You will not speak about Agatha that way,” The Count observed the pain apparent on the Detective’s face as he continued. “She is one of mine. She has been avoiding me lately and I’m sure wherever she is she is _much_ too prepared to keep me out. So I will bring her here. She _will_ come to me.”

He dug the sword in deeper until it touched the wall behind him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it,” he said, tilting his head as he twisted the blade inside the Detective’s chest.

Stefan released groans of pain which seemed to delight the Count. Dracula gave him a half smile, watching as he fell into unconsciousness.

Dracula pulled the sword out of Stefan’s body, and passed his finger over the blade to collect some blood. He touched it to the tip of his tongue before sneering.

“Hm. I think I liked Johnny better.”


	31. See You In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Sta-Dra-Gatha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad at summaries. Uh, Agatha gets a surprise and sets off on another mission?

There was a knock on the door and Agatha rushed over, hoping it was Stefan. He had written to her to inform her that he would be gone to speak to a contact of his, Godalming. But it had been so many days already, and there had been no other communication. Agatha was beginning to grow concerned and felt she should have been more stubborn in her insistence of going with him. Besides, while she was used to confinement, she didn’t particularly like it.

When she opened the door, relief flooded her.

“Stefan. I was beginning to worry about you. Come in,” she said, as she turned away from him. “Next time I am going with you. No discussions.”

When she turned to look at him again, he was still standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing? Come in,” she stated, and after a moment he did, shutting the door behind him.

She made herself busy when she saw the mess on the table and started putting away the empty plates from when she made dinner for Maria, Lily, and Florence earlier. Strange as she could have sworn she had done this already.

Stefan was observing her as if she was doing something more extraordinary than cleaning up. She felt insecure and wrapped her sweater tightly around her after she put away the rest of the dishes.

“You’re quiet today.” she remarked with a frown. She was studying him now. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” he smiled softly. “I have to tell you something, but…I suppose it can wait.”

Agatha approached him and as she looked over him she recognized the physical resemblance to Dracula, something she had always somewhat noticed. But he reminded her more of him today, and she thought that maybe this was her own imagination causing her to obsess over the vampire, extending its effect to that of how she viewed those close to her.

It seemed ridiculous to think it wasn’t the Detective. Dracula would have revealed himself by now, hurt her. She had the place protected anyway, didn’t she? She had covered her bases.

No, she was being ridiculous. Paranoid, as the Detective had told her when she had first gotten here and he tried to calm her.

“Well, what is it? What have you found out?” she said, trying to rid herself of her thoughts.

“We can talk about that soon. I’d rather hear about you.”

“Why are you avoiding the subject?” she asked, stepping towards him. She was surprised to see him step back, as if avoiding any sort of contact with her.

“I’m not,” he smiled. “I only wanted to hear about you first. We have all night, don’t we?”

She narrowed her eyes, annoyed at him being so vague and refusing to discuss his findings with her.

“Fine. Get some rest. I haven’t been up to anything interesting lately, so there’s nothing to talk about,” she said.

She was tired as well and had no patience to continue trying to get answers out of him. At least for now. The words came out harsher than she intended, but she meant it. Perhaps he needed to rest to open up to her. The subject at hand was not an easy one for him, she knew that, so she would be patient.

“We’ll talk later.”

Agatha turned away and she felt him take her hand to stop her.

She was startled at the touch. The feeling was electric, and she almost pulled away. Had he really been away that long? She had kissed him before, but the feeling wasn’t the same. Maybe the few days he was gone had made her realize she had developed deeper feelings for the Detective.

It was strange how something so simple as a touch could evoke such feelings. At the moment though this was not something to be thinking about, as the Detective was obviously in some state of conflict.

“Stefan,” she said again, more sternly. “You know you can tell me anything…”

“I know,” he smiled.

She observed him intently, squeezing his hand gently before moving it up to his shoulder. She was still registering her thoughts, but they were too intense to decipher in such proximity to him. She settled on releasing her nervous energy by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. Agatha hadn’t always been the best at initiating affection, but she felt inclined to do so now.

She kept thinking of the Count. Why should she be? She felt perfect at the moment and her thoughts shouldn’t be scurrying to such wretched subjects as that of him.

He wrapped her arms around her, unknowingly easing her thoughts. This is the way she should feel—loved, and she shouldn’t be thinking about anything else.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” she said, her words slightly muffled against his shoulder. She was feeling now like she should be asking herself this as well.

“Yes. This is actually quite nice,” he said.

He held her for what seemed like an eternity and Agatha chuckled a little, full of some nervous energy she was anxious to release. Something was definitely wrong, but she was also feeling too excitable to not take initiative again.

“If you don’t want to sleep or rest, would you like to come to bed with me?” she asked, pulling back from him now, though he still held her. She was surprised the words even left her lips. It was bold, even for her.

“What?” he said, a bit startled at her.

“What is it? Was I too aggressive the other night?” she said jokingly, though part of her was still insecure. She remembered that she had sightly intimidated the Detective that one night they were kissing, but she was thinking maybe they could go further this time.

“The other night?”

“I promise I’ve grown accustomed to my physical strength. I’ll try not to throw you on the bed again,” she chuckled. “You can be the dominant one this time.”

“Oh…Is that what you like?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

She broke their embrace and grabbed him by his sleeve to pull him to the bed in a haste.

She almost stopped in her tracks as she observed her surroundings. She had always made sure to surround her bed with sacred items, such as the pages from a Bible, and they weren’t there anymore. Was she dreaming? Her earlier suspicion came into play and her mind went through a wide away of thoughts in a second. The way of his touch, and the way she reacted to it, even if she—very often—denied it.

Agatha realized she wasn’t being paranoid earlier, and she should have listened to her intuition. She was sure now that something horrible had happened—that this wasn’t Stefan at all.

“I hate to break the moment,” he said behind her. It was _his_ voice. Dracula’s. He wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she felt his body press against her back as he kept her in place.

“But as I’ve said before, I would never taint the modesty of a nun.”

She would have lost balance if he wasn’t holding her back against him. Her knees were practically on the edge of the bed that she had been foolishly leading him to. She felt her skin flush in fear and anger.

“What have you done with him?” she said, her voice menacing and reeking of threats although she was in heightened alarm at the turn of events. She hoped desperately the vampire wouldn’t tear his face off, revealing his own from under the Detective’s skin.

“You’ll know soon enough. Tell me, did you think you would be able to play your power games with me without any consequence?”

“You’ve opened yourself up to me again. You are inside of me, as I am inside of you…” he said, drawing out his words next to her.

“Did you kill him?”

He only answered her with a small sigh, and she continued, angrier now.

“Answer me.”

“If you want to know what’s happened to your Detective, you’ll have to pay him a visit yourself. He paid me a visit, and it seems these infrequent visits of yours aren’t working for me.”

Agatha knew that if she didn’t get this done herself, Dracula would doom many others. She knew it, Dracula knew it, and he was using it against her. But if he wanted her to go to him, she would. No one else was going to kill him.

“Fine. Where are you?” she said harshly.

“You’ll have to figure it out yourself. You made me work to find you, didn’t you? Now, I _do_ remember you said if I got my hands on you, I could do what I wanted. What do you think I’d like to do to you?”

She inhaled sharply, preparing for the first thing that came to mind.

“Go on and have another drink then. I’ve gotten used to it. I could care less.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t think I’d be hearing that tonight,” he chuckled. “I think we’ve had far too much of one another’s blood. I don’t know about you, but it’s been making me lose my mind a little.”

“What do you want then? For me to go to your place so one of us ends up killing one another for good this time?”

“Yes,” he said. “You are my bride and you shouldn’t be wandering around England without me.”

“Let me go,” she said.

“Fine,” he said as he released her. “Look at me.”

She turned around and saw his face for the first time that night.

“That’s not what I would do to you,” he said, with a slight smile. “I will wait. For you, I am both eager and patient.”

“Wonderful. I’ll see you in hell then,” she said the next few words to herself, while still looking at him. “Wake up, Agatha.”

And she did. She left as soon as she could pack whatever she thought useful, determined to do what she could to stop him once and for all.


	32. Purfleet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha goes to meet one of Stefan’s contacts to help locate Dracula’s new place in England. No Dragatha (you guys: YOU BITCH me: Oops) but I wrote this chapter because I love the novel and I wanted certain characters to seam into the story. Characters are based off their novel versions, not so much on the BBC/Netflix version. Hope this is ok.

After one long carriage ride and two missed trains, Agatha finally reached the office of Stefan’s contact. She had found his information in the room at the inn and he was the only contact of Stefan’s she knew about aside from the doctor who helped him retrieve the blood bags for her. Agatha hoped this contact, a “Lord Godalming,” would be helpful in telling her where Stefan had gone to. He supposedly knew about the homes sold in towns nearby.

The office was in a busier part of the city next to some other offices and small shops. Agatha gave a small knock and through the window she could see someone there who gestured for her to enter. She opened the door.

“Hello. Lord…Godalming, is it?” Agatha asked. She was both hungry and tired, and almost out of blood bags, so she hoped to be out of here quickly. After this she would travel to the hospital to find the doctor for more blood.

“The title is a complicated one and far too formal. I am more of a businessman than a Lord. You may call me Arthur,” he smiled.

“Arthur, I’m Sister Agatha. May I come in?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “How can I help you, Sister?”

Upon the invitation Agatha quickly entered and walked up to his desk.

“I need to know exactly where you sent Detective Stefan Weber.”

Arthur appeared taken aback.

“You know Detective Stefan then.”

“Yes. He’s in trouble and I need to know where you’ve sent him. I know he showed you some pictures. He was looking for a certain home…I just need the town or district and I’ll recognize the place immediately.”

“What kind of trouble is he in?”

“He may be dead. Or worse,” she stated.

“Damned, you mean?” another voice responded instead. A tall man walked out from another room in the office. He was younger than Arthur and dressed much more casually.

“Exactly,” Agatha nodded not bothering to introduce herself to him. It seemed at least one of them was on track and hopefully realized the urgency of the situation.

“He went to a home in Purfleet,” Arthur replied.

“How far from here to Purfleet?”

“A couple of hours. You could take the train. I can call you a carriage to the station but if you don’t mind me saying, this mission sounds a bit extreme. You should go to the police if you’re sure he is in danger-”

“Do you have weapons?” asked the second man, interrupting him. “I’ve helped out Stefan with weapons in the past.”

“I have what I need.” She did have a stake and her crucifix, but she wished Stefan hadn’t taken her silver blade. It was missing when she left. “Unless you have anything made of silver.”

“Silver, no. Only steel.”

“Not useful but thank you, sir.”

“You can call me Morris,” he smiled, intrigued at the nun’s mission. “May I ask what you’re hunting?”

“A vampire,” she said, no longer thinking it necessary to try to come up with some kind of lie or excuse. Arthur’s eyes widened but Morris only smirked, seeming to not be surprised at the situation.

“If it’s a vampire, you need the help,” said Arthur hurriedly. “We can call the police and go with you.”

“It’s fine. I’m a vampire as well,” said Agatha, realizing it was an absurd thing to say out loud to two strangers, but she didn’t much care at the moment. Morris raised his eyebrows and Arthur remained speechless at her blunt revelation.

“No more humans need be involved in this. I’ll take you up on that offer for the carriage, if you don’t mind, Arthur. I’ll just need make a stop at the hospital first. I have an address. Hopefully it’s along the way,” she said.

“I’ll call it for you, but Sister Agatha, are you sure you wish to go alone?” asked Arthur.

“No more humans need be involved and I know Count Dracula.”

“Mr. Balaur. Not a Count Dracula. I believe that was the particular home he was looking for.”

“Of course, yes,” she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, I know Mr. Balaur. I’ll wait outside for the carriage. Thank you both.”

Agatha made her way to the door, but Morris stopped her.

“One more thing, Sister.”

“Yes?” she said, turning to him.

“Catch,” he said, tossing her a small pack of matches, which she caught without much effort. Her reflexes these days seemed to be at their best, even when she was hungry and slightly weak.

“It’s no silver, but it could be useful.”

“Yes,” she grinned. “Thank you.”

After a bit of a long wait, the carriage arrived and though it would be a long trip to the hospital, Agatha needed the blood. The scents of everyone around her seemed to be elevating her want, or rather her need to feed. Needing her rest she fell asleep along the way.


	33. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha dreams again of better times.

_Agatha followed the Count through the narrow corridors of his Transylvanian castle. He held a candelabra as he walked ahead of her, guiding the way, enthusiastic to give her a tour around the place. Though by now she had been here many times, Agatha followed eagerly as he showed her to the bedrooms, the guestrooms, the cellars, a ballroom, a library. There were still many rooms and corridors she had yet to see._

_Every room and hallway seemed to have a story or a memory of the Count’s attached to it. Though Agatha knew Dracula had no doubt told these stories to many others, he was excited to share them with her. It was fascinating to Agatha how spirited he was, a characteristic she knew he possessed in spite of his age, and even without the “life” of the blood he drank._

_Perhaps this is what kept him so powerful. A lively spirit strong above the other creatures he may have created. The predisposition of his optimism, whether natural from him or created from his own sheer will, his humor, and his passion even if it came with unapologetic wickedness._

_They walked up a narrow staircase again as he finished the one main legend about the castle._

_“The castle would be a tribute to his long lost love, and the sunlight to which he could never return. Legend has it that Petruvio died here in the arms of his wife,” he mused, still leading her as they passed the portraits._

_“I suppose it must have been a cold embrace,” Agatha said quickly._

_He stopped and turned back to look at her curiously._

_“I’ve heard this one.”_

_“Have you?”_

_“Yes. You forget I interviewed the late Mr. Harker,” she smiled._

_“That’s right,” he said. She noticed he still seemed caught off guard at her sudden words._

_“He may have not written anything useful, but he did tell me much about his stay here,” she continued._

_“Ah, yes. I also gave him a tour of the place,” he said, turning back towards the stairs. “He was a fighter, that one. Brave. Clever.”_

_“Perhaps he just knew to pay attention.”_

_As she followed the Count through the seemingly never-ending staircase, Agatha glanced at the stone walls on the left of them. She stopped as she noticed an outline of some kind among the stone. She was immediately interested- maybe a secret corridor lied beyond. She traced the small spaces on the wall, trying to find out how exactly she could access whatever lied beyond. She could not seem to push it open, but maybe there was another way inside. She peered closer and tried to find some sort of reasoning to it._

_Before she could further attempt to investigate, the Count startled her by appearing right in front of her, when he had been many steps away before then. She stepped back instinctively, almost falling if he hadn’t caught her._

_His reflexes and strength were obviously exemplary, as she expected from a creature like him. He caught her with a smooth immediacy, a strong arm wrapping around her back and he didn’t even drop or struggle with the candelabra he held in his other hand. Agatha tensed immediately._

_“Don’t go wandering around without me.”_

_He smiled and her eyes were fixed on his teeth again for a moment, his fangs only just showing a bit in the candlelight._

_“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice coming out in a much softer tone than she intended._

_“Here?”_

_“Yes. To this dream.”_

_“And here I thought you lured me into a dream.”_

_“No. No, you did that.”_

_“Maybe we’re both to blame then,” he said after a moment. He was still holding her rigidly for some reason and Agatha realized he was much too close to her now. She felt both nervous and excitable, the odd combination of feelings towards him he seemed to bring to her at times, and she couldn’t make herself pull away._

_“I almost forgot. You’re light as a feather,” he mused._

_“And you, stiff as a board,” she said, hitting him lightly on his chest with the back of her hand._

_“Not yet,” he joked. He grinned when he saw her startled reaction to his teasing, which she was obviously not expecting._

_“Watch your mouth,” she said, as she finally pulled away from him and he let her go. “That is a terrible joke. And I am a nun.”_

_“You’re also my wife.”_

_“No, I am not, Mr. Balaur,” she clarified. Agatha ran her fingers through the fabric of her habit to smooth the material. Dracula was obviously in much too good of a mood today that he would even joke about such things with her._

_“If I was, I would have staked you for lack of a proper wedding.”_

_“Well, we do have the space for it here.”_

_“That’s true. Though I wouldn’t precisely like to get married in such a place. How do you feel about Catholic churches?” she smirked. In the back of her mind Agatha wondered if there was some paperwork in existence that had legalized a marriage of some sort between her and this Balaur character of his._

_“More importantly, what’s in here?”_

_She lightly tapped the stone wall next to them, where she knew that something lied beyond._

_“Let’s say it’s a hall of mirrors.”_

_“Mirrors,” Agatha repeated. She knew if she had enough time, she could find a way in there, but she didn’t press the issue further._

_“Now Agatha, stay close. Remember what I always tell you. The castle is a labyrinth.”_

“Sister?” the voice of the driver woke her, and she realized they had stopped. Agatha was upset she had been dreaming yet again of another memory of hers from months ago, when she thought their dream visitations brought no harm with them, when she actually seemed to get along with the vampire.

“Yes,” she said to the driver.

“We’ve arrived at the hospital.”


	34. Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agatha learns something new about her resurrection.

As soon as Agatha entered the hospital (after a very polite invitation from one of the nurses), she smelled the blood. Sick blood, deathly blood, mostly. She nearly grimaced, the smell of the rotting of the soul again, invading her senses.

When she walked inside, she recognized the doctor immediately. It was the first face Agatha had seen when she had woken here in England. She remembered he had a name almost identical to Jonathan’s.

“Hello…Dr. Harper, right?” she approached him after the other doctor he had been speaking to walked away.

“Yes. Oh it’s you…the nearly dead nun,” he joked, obviously in better spirits than he had been so many months ago when she first met him.

“Yes. Nearly,” she smiled.

“I’m happy to see you are in better health these days.”

“Yes, in too much good health it seems,” she admitted.

“Always a good thing.”

“Thank you for caring for me all those months ago.”

“No need to thank me.”

The doctor smiled before continuing.

“What brings you here?”

“I need to see a Dr. Seward.”

“Dr. Seward…” he replied, thinking over the name. “May I ask why? Is something wrong? Last time I spoke to you, you seemed very sharp for someone who had nearly died.”

“No, I am fine. I promise.”

In truth Agatha was more than fine, but if she was going to seek out Stefan and Dracula, she had to be fully fed and her senses at their best.

“I’m here on behalf of Detective Stefan.“

“Oh, still in touch with him? Never much liked him myself.”

“I got the impression.”

“No matter. I’ll take you to Dr. Seward. Right this way.”

“Thank you,” she said,

She followed him to a room at the corner of a brightly lit hallway. The doctor opened the door for her. The room appeared to be a small laboratory, with vials of medicines neatly organized, though the place was small and slightly crammed. There were also bags of blood on one of the counters, labeled and neatly placed.

“You have a visitor. Agatha Van Helsing,” said Dr. Harper, before giving Agatha a quick nod and exiting the room.

Dr. Seward appeared to be a very young man, and was leaning against a counter by the wall, very concentrated as he read over some papers.

“Yes…just a moment,” he said as he took one more glance at the files before finally setting them down on the counter.

“I apologize for being distracted,” he said, looking at her briefly. “New patient. Our Henry; it looks like he will have to be isolated. He’s a nocturnal and troublesome one and a bit of a screamer these days. Among other things.”

“Yes…probably best he is isolated then.”

“Mhm…Sorry. I work at the sanitarium most days. It takes its toll.” he looking at her again, this time more focused on her, appearing to study her. “We’ve met, haven’t we?”

“I don’t believe we have.”

He frowned and seemed about to say something, but Agatha thought it best to get to the point.

“I’m here on behalf of Stefan Weber,” she said simply. “I’m here for the blood.”

Agatha was uncertain how much this Dr. Seward knew, so she didn’t add anything else.

“Stefan, yes. He did mention a Miss Van Helsing might be passing by on some days. You must be from the other hospital then?...It’s such a good thing, what you’re both doing, helping those in need.”

“Yes,” she said, her Catholic guilt coursing its way through her quickly. “We appreciate your help with the donations.”

“I am happy to help those in need as well. How many pouches do you require?”

“Only what you can spare,” she said.

“Blood type?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

The doctor stepped to the counter by the wall where the pouches of blood stood neatly organized. Agatha watched as he opened a drawer and took out a paper bag. He began to place the pouches neatly carefully into it.

“A little bit of everything you might need in there,” he said finally, approaching her with the bag.

“Thank you very much,” she said as she took it from his hands. She could smell the scents already. Good blood, unlike that which she had initially been greeted with upon coming here.

Dr. Seward appeared to stay still before her and Agatha noticed he seemed to look upon her even more curiously, as if they really had met before. Perhaps they had.

“Hm. I remember you now,” he said finally, elation apparent in his voice.

“You do?”

“Yes! I knew it. We doctors do have the best memory,” he said grinning, apparently glad to have uncovered the mystery. “You were here.”

“Yes, many months ago.”

“Yes! Of course. I was actually the doctor who took you in that night.”

“What?” she said, a little surprised at the strange coincidence. “Really? I thought it was Dr. Harper…”

“He took care of you, but it was me who took you in,” he said. “You see, though I work mostly at the sanitarium here, but I also do some bloodwork in this wing, as you know, and that night I happened to be by the entrance. You were nearly dead. Pale as a corpse.”

She frowned and smiled softly, intrigued to learn more about what happened when she was out, or otherwise dead.

“I’m afraid I have no memory of that night. Nothing before I woke up in a bed here. Did I just…walk in here somehow, all pale and practically dead?”

She almost laughed at the thought of it, but it occurred to Agatha that as Jonathan had experienced blackouts, she might have undergone the same thing.

“No! No, of course not,” he said “You were fully unconscious. You were breathing but everything else seemed to be shut down. It’s a miracle you were alive. If he hadn’t brought you in-“

“Wait—you remember who brought me here?” she asked.

“Yes. He was sopping wet and full of sand just like you were. Stood at the door holding you and I took you in. Never got his name though. He was very tall, black hair, white shirt and suspenders. Notably strange teeth, very sharp,” he said laughing, wrinkling his nose at the memory.

Agatha froze for a moment, which the doctor took as an invitation to continue.

“I told you, we doctors _do_ have the best memory. But yes, he handed you over to me himself…I got you to a room, got you started before Dr. Harper took over…Anyway, Miss Van Helsing, I talk too much,” he chuckled, pushing back his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything else I could help you with?”

“No…no, thank you, and thank you for helping me that night.”

“Of course. It’s what anyone would have done. Though it isn’t me you should be thanking.”

“Well, you’ve been such a help,” she said hurriedly. Agatha’s mind was still processing, still coming to terms with the new information she had just been delivered by the doctor—that Dracula had brought her here, saved her, and she never knew it, and he had kept it from her.

“I must get going,” she said hurriedly.

“Of course. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Van Helsing. Be safe in your travels.”


	35. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Mina’s back and a Dragatha preview. [I’m awful at summaries.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reeaally wanted to bring her back.

Mina Harker considered herself a smart woman. She should have known better than to let Jonathan go alone to some strange place without her. He often did travel alone, but not so far, and never had Mina felt so apprehensive since before he left to Transylvania. And she came to realize it too late—that she should have at least tried to convince him to stay, instead of writing a simple letter to help him be at ease in his travels.

Every night she relived her last evening with Jonathan, when she saw Dracula himself coming out of her fiancé’s skin. It was horror, but what was horror eventually became anger. An anger so intense it turned into a mission for vengeance.

She had made up her mind to find Dracula and kill him. So she prepared and learned as much as she could.

With the help of a detective, she found Count Dracula (although going by a different name these days), who had indeed made it England--much to her convenience.

She reached Carfax Abbey; large desolate grounds with a huge manor, as she imagined. The gates closed but unlocked. She walked inside, crossbow in hand, equally terrified as she was alert. In spite of the comforting sun warming the air, every sound she heard with the wind and leaves felt like a danger. She took a shaky breath and walked the grounds.

As she neared the entrance of the actual manor, clouds seemed to envelop the sunlight and the air grew grey. Mina froze. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but it seemed almost unnatural—an omen. She held her weapon tightly before her and stepped slowly, focused on making her way to the entrance of the place. She had to remember what—or rather, who--she was doing this for, even if he was not with her anymore.

Mina stopped in her tracks, as fog seemed to wrap itself around her ankles and flood even the oxygen. The weather changed far too rapidly, seeming to make her breathing difficult and heavy. The fog was everywhere now, exhausting and suffocating.

She saw the Count’s figure near the entrance, darkness in the fog the only thing visible. Though still at a distance, Mina felt confident in her aim—and so without a second thought she shot straight at him.

Dracula’s reflexes were quicker than she imagined possible. He turned briefly and caught the stake in his hand, broke it in half, threw it carelessly on the ground.

“You’re quite a good shot,” he said. He inspected her a moment, and Mina stayed in place and held her crossbow, trying her best to not allow fear to overtake her.

“How nice of you to come by. I remember you…Though not by taste. Perhaps we can change that,” he said, flashing her a smile. He took one step closer and although she saw him so easily deflect her shot last time, she held up her weapon firmly.

“I’ll shoot again. I won’t stop and one of them won’t miss you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Her voice was shaky and there was sweat on her brow, but the Count made no comment towards this, nor her threats.

“Are you here with Agatha?” he asked.

“Agatha Van Helsing?” she said, taken aback at the question.

“Yes.”

Mina frowned momentarily.

 _She’s alive_ , she thought, thought she had no idea how that was possible.

“I’m here alone, and you know why.”

“You’re still upset about Johnny? There are many lawyers in England, Mina. You can find another. Though I will be honest with you, he was quite a special flavor.”

He chuckled, and Mina shot again. Dracula had barely just turned, but successfully caught the stake again in his hand.

“Agatha,” he said, breaking the wood in half, and observing the pieces for a moment before throwing them aside. “Is she here with you, or is she already inside the Castle?”

“Sister Agatha isn’t a part of this-“

“Where is she?” he raised his voice. “I am almost inclined to believe you. _Almost._ I know very well she would not put you in danger. But by now I can sense her…I wonder if this is a trap.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Why are you so suddenly protecting her?” he asked. “I would expect it from her sisters, but you didn’t mind when she offered herself in your place,” he said raising his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side mockingly. Mina blinked back tears; guilt was something perhaps she had felt, had buried away.

“I’m not helpless this time,” she said, trying to mask any feeling in her voice.

“No?”

In the fog around her, dark figures seemed to slowly come closer. She thought it was her imagination at first, but then she heard the growling and she saw the wolves surrounding her, the snarling teeth, the bright and wild eyes.

“Now, remember Mina! You shoot one, the others will attack you. And I won’t even have to say a word to command them. You will find that nature often works in my benefit. So, I’ll ask you one more time. Where is your friend Agatha?”

His tone was amused, and to Mina it sounded like he was ready to see this show of his wolves unfold. Mina swallowed hard, still holding her weapon tightly. She didn’t know what to do except lie, but she couldn’t think of one quick enough.

“She—I—”

The words wouldn’t even come out, the throat dry and uncomfortable. But to Mina’s relief, after only a few seconds, the fog cleared, at least a little, allowing her to breathe properly.

There were soft whines from the wolves instead of growling; the creatures all seemed to come a standstill before backing away slowly. Mina blinked back tears. It was odd, a miracle, she thought, something Sister Agatha may not have believed in, and that she wasn’t sure she believed in anymore either. Mina looked around in confusion, still holding her weapon, and saw Agatha to her right, looking very much alive among the little fog left.

“Obedient little dogs, just like you,” said Agatha, looking over the wolves, then raising her chin to look at the Count. “Your _bride_ is here.”


	36. Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one: Agatha makes it to Dracula’s place and complications ensue. [Crack summary- Agatha: I wanna see Stefan. Dracula: No. 😊]

Just as she had arrived and walked through the gates of the outside of the large manor, she knew she was not alone, and the sudden fog in the area, the clouds over the sun, were a bad sign.

When she was closer, walking as quietly as she could, Agatha saw Mina, holding a weapon in the midst of all the fog, and the Count’s dark figure. It was too coincidental. Mina again, here at nearly the same time she had arrived. She never thought she would see the young girl again. Agatha took it as a sign from God.

As soon as Agatha heard the wolves—for she heard them before she saw them—she felt suddenly more frightened than she was before. She remembered hearing the wolves at the convent. The night of her sisters’ destruction, and perhaps her own.

However, today didn’t have to be the same, and one thing Agatha prided herself in was her quick thinking. The Count controlled the wolves, and he was in her veins. So perhaps she could at least try to do the same.

It was quite easy to dictate the animals; in fact, Agatha could tell when they sensed her presence as she came closer. She felt they sensed her feelings as well--what she wanted them to do, or rather, not do—and as if understanding some command from her thoughts alone, they began to whine and back away from Mina.

Agatha finally broke her focus away from the wolves as they cowered back, almost seeming to disappear into the darkness of the fog.

“Obedient little dogs, just like you,” said Agatha, looking over the wolves one more time, before raising her chin to look at the Count. “Your _bride_ is here,” she said mockingly.

She rushed over to Mina and stood before her. She had always been protective over the young girl, especially after seeing her have to endure so much. Dracula seemed to observe the wolves as they backed away before he looked to Agatha, who was as usual, prepared with a stake.

“Impressive,” said the Count, the almost laughable musicality in his voice indicating he was more amused than upset at her success at stopping his creatures.

“My life’s mission complete. I can be buried in peace now,” she said sarcastically. “As you remember correctly, no harm will come to Mina so long as I’m standing.”

“I remember…Well then, _bride_ , you come here now,” he said, daring Agatha to approach him. “And then perhaps I’ll take you to see your Detective. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Mina was bewildered, unsure of how to even proceed. The Sister was alive somehow, and controlling wolves… _Undead_ , she thought, and besides that she had no idea what else was going on here.

“Sister Agatha? How are you…” she heard Mina’s voice next to her. 

“It’s not important. Mina,” Agatha said, urgency in her voice. “You must trust me and leave.”

“No, I’m not going to leave you with him again,” she said. Though Mina was not sure what she had walked into, she was determined not to let the Sister be harmed again for her.

“I came here of my own free will. I have someone I need to find, and then I will try to stop Count Dracula,” Agatha said softly.

Agatha needed to find her friend, though didn’t know if to save Stefan’s soul, she would have to stake him, but she was fairly certain of it and prepared for such a thing. And Stefan wouldn’t want to live only to become a vampire and serve the Count.

Agatha squeezed Mina’s hand, frightened for the young girl who she had saved for a second time, before she approached the Count.

Dracula was used to seeing the nun so proudly holding a stake or some kind of weapon, but he was much more cautious this time around. He leaned forward quickly when she was close enough and took her wrist in his hand, taking the stake from her.

“Not today, sweetheart,” he said, turning her around and pulling her back against him. Dracula pointed her own stake at her chest and held her tightly.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered.

Agatha watched Mina’s panicked face, the young girl shaking as she held her weapon. In spite of everything Agatha couldn’t help but chuckle. Dracula’s cowardice being revealed once again made her content. In spite of his power, the Count still feared the slightest possibility of Mina succeeding in an attempt to shoot a stake through him.

“Coward,” was all she said as she held on to his arm, pulling him, though she knew it was of no use.

“Now this should be obvious, but Mina,” he said comically, as if telling her a joke. “If you even _try_ to shoot again, I _will_ stake her,” he grinned. “And then you would _really_ have something to feel guilty about, wouldn’t you?”

“You’ll kill her anyway,” she shouted.

“I left her alive last time, didn’t I? The choice is yours.”

“Mina, take the shot. I am undead. You know very well how that ends,” Agatha urged. If Mina could make the shot, then it would be worth it.

But Mina couldn’t. And the Count very well knew this was exactly how it would play out. He fed on not only blood, but fears, and he liked to think he was good at reading such weaknesses.

Mina could almost see herself back then, making her mistake, and leaving the nun to her fate. So she surrendered, aiming down her weapon slowly. Agatha felt her heart break when she saw the young woman with so much helplessness written on her face.

“A good choice,” Dracula smiled wider. “Now I have some matters to settle with the Sister here, so please, show yourself out and don’t get yourself bitten on the way. You are still, need I remind you, surrounded by wolves. And dusk is almost here...”

Agatha felt herself being pulled back as the Count walked them backwards to the entrance of his Castle. He never once turned his back on Mina, regardless of her lowered weapon.

As soon as they reached beyond the wide doors of the castle, Agatha heard the doors close shut. There was mostly darkness. The Count tossed the stake somewhere beside them without much care and took Agatha’s wrist without looking at her. He began walking them up the stairs. His strides were long and he was quicker than her, so she was walking rather quickly to keep up.

“Let me go,” she tried to shake from his grip. It was laughable, she knew, for her to even try.

“Not likely,” he said flatly. “You and Mina again. That takes me back. It looks like everybody is trying to kill me these days.”

The Count was focused and quiet the rest of the way, which to Agatha felt like quite a long journey. She wanted to come here quietly, find Stefan and stake the Count, or perhaps set this place on fire after she did. But now the circumstances had once again changed when God had put Mina in her path one more.

“I want to see Stefan,” she stated.

“Yes, I am well aware. Maybe later. If you behave yourself.”

Passing the stairs, he walked them down a corridor and stopped before a wide, heavy stone door. He opened it and quickly walked her inside, releasing her once he had shut it.

It was only a bedroom. Agatha wasn’t sure what she expected but it was not something so simple as this. Dracula stood guard in case she were to try to make a run for it.

“I suggest you get comfortable because you aren’t going anywhere.”

Did he intend to leave her here, to starve her or torture her or did he have other plans? Was there any way out of this? There had to be. She would kill herself before she allowed herself to be put in some box.

“Take me to him,” she said.

He closed his eyes momentarily, vexed at her sudden demands. 

“I came here, didn’t I? As you wanted me to? Take me to him and you can take me back here after I see him. I won’t try to fight you about it.”

“I doubt that. Compliance is not your strong suit,” he said. “For now, you will stay here. It is quite simple Agatha,” he said, frustration apparent in his tone as if he didn’t think he should even be explaining himself. “You are…”

“You consider me your property.”

“My bride. Yes. And I like to keep what is mine close to me. You have proven to be quite elusive. I came to England to embark on new…flavors. Opportunities. Not to be chasing after you…” he raised his eyebrows. “Now, as you can see, these are far better accommodations than I have given any of my brides, and don’t worry. I will ensure you don’t starve.”

“Because you wish not to kill me,” she stated. “Tell me what happened at the beach the night of the ship,” she said, getting to the point.

The Count seemed rather surprised she had brought this up, and Agatha wasn’t sure why she said it, why she even felt the need to discuss this in the midst of all else that was happening. However, she felt annoyed it was never mentioned at all, when she would have liked to earlier have known about how survived in the first place.

“Ah. Your skin looks like it has seen the sun…” he said, looking over her. “Let me guess…You went to the beach again? Did you remember something?”

“You took me to the hospital that night,” she said, ignoring his question. “Is that true? Tell me.”

“Fine. Yes, I did.”

“You’ll have to explain more than that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m telling you to and I want to know.”

The Count sighed and looked to the side briefly before continuing.

“After the explosion, after I saved myself…I suppose I felt I should find you. And I did, I found you in the water.”

He paused and looked away again for a moment, as if recollecting the memory of what happened.

“I swam to shore, but you wouldn’t awaken, so I tried something else and you revived.”

“What do you mean you tried something else?”

“I fed you my blood. It wasn’t much, but…You came back, instantly,” he said. “After you revived, you still weren’t well. Your heartbeat wasn’t regular, and you hadn’t yet turned, so I took you to a proper doctor. You recovered, obviously much better than expected.”

Agatha remained speechless, coming to terms with the story he was telling.

“You were dead, Agatha. Truly.”

“You never told me that,” she said accusing him. “Why didn’t you.”

“I told you I fed you my blood and it saved you.”

“You told me you did that on the Demeter.”

“No, you assumed that.”

“And you did not deny it,” she said sternly.

The Count sighed again and closed his eyes again momentarily, pinching the bridge of his nose. If Agatha wasn’t so focused on coming to terms with what happened the night she should have died, she would have enjoyed eliciting such a reaction from him.

“So, _why_ didn’t you tell me all of this earlier?”

“I did try to tell you. Twice, actually. First when I told you I fed you my blood, and then when I visited your bedroom. Don’t you remember?” he asked, stepping towards her. “I told you I had something important to tell you.”

“You had many opportunities to tell me what happened. You even took me to the seashore when we dreamed, for Christ’s sake,” she scolded.

“Yes, I took you there to see if you remembered anything. And you didn’t…It wasn’t something that even needed mentioning, so what does it matter really?”

“It doesn’t. As always I am only just trying to understand your ridiculous behavior,” she said. “You’ve explained yourself, so I don’t need to hear about it anymore.”

“No? I thought you were curious.”

“You’ve sated my curiosity.”

“You didn’t ask me why I saved you,” he said.

“I don’t care why.”

He was possessive of his brides, she knew that much, and he marked her as one long ago. Nothing else needed explaining, and she was angry to hear what happened in a sense, because she had thought it some miracle, when it was not. Knowing he had saved her, to her meant the event lacked any deep reason, and he had doomed her yet again, seeking another soul to claim.

“It was my right to die. You took that from me,” she said.

“You’re angry that I saved you? Really?” he scoffed.

“Yes, of course. We both should be dead right now, at the bottom of the ocean.”

“Maybe I should have left you for dead then. I daresay, mercy is disrespect…But I cared enough for the both of us. Maybe I’ve grown sentimental.”

“Oh, do be quiet,” she said, brushing off the statement. If he was insinuating something deeper than their ties by blood and it was both alarming and disgusting of him to. Manipulation at its worst.

“I am tired of talking to you. Take me to Stefan,” she said quickly.

“Do you love him?” he asked suddenly, and this time Agatha was the one stunned at the question.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer me.”

“No,” she shook her head. “No, I’m not answering that,” she added.

He smiled for a moment, deep in thought. Agatha found something, or rather, knew something in that moment. The feeling that perhaps she was too late. She knew she probably would be, but at least she thought there was the smallest possibility he was still human.

“You killed Stefan already,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“Whether I did or did not doesn’t matter. He is still _speaking_ , if that matters. He is in my home. One of _mine_ now.”

“One of yours. Like me,” she said, angrier now. 

“Not like you. The others aren’t like you. You’ve kept your mind, your free will, intact completely. I have tried for so long to reproduce, and you are proof that I could create so many like me…Like us. You are my best creation.”

Dracula stepped closer but eyed the nun cautiously, already expecting her to pull out another stake, or knife, and try to finish him.

“I’ve told you. You did not create me,” said Agatha.

“You’re still my best.” The Count’s lips revealed a small smirk.

His statements repulsed her. He spoke as if she really was some plaything of his, an experiment. She flushed in offense at his words, looking over him now that he was closer. She felt that same horrible physical draw to him that came so natural to her. _Blood_ , she tried to remind herself. The sickness of their bond. A more harmful sickness than that which he usually inflicted on his victims. She needed to calm herself or at least vent the feeling somehow.

She gripped him by his jaw, any small fear of him momentarily leaving her.

“You are not my God.”

It was all she said, her tone serious as she dared as she looked at him. At touching him, she felt her chest tighten, felt disturbingly out of control when control was, again, precisely what she needed.

She let him go and pushed him aside—quickly approaching the door behind him. It was pure arrogance perhaps, but she had to at least try getting out of this room.

Dracula suddenly approached and shut the door. He grabbed her wrist again, pulling her and tossing her on the bed quite easily. He barely needed to exert much force on her, his strength so natural it still astonished Agatha even if she knew of it. Agatha sat up on her elbows quickly and he grabbed her neck before she could stand and make another failed attempt to leave the room or defy him somehow. His hold was firm enough to ensure she was attentive.

“No, maybe I am not your God, but I am still stronger than you so don’t keep provoking me.”

“You wish for me to see him when he’s gone completely feral, don’t you?” she said. “No. I want to see him now. Take me to see Stefan. I demand you take me to him.”

The Count was easy to control in certain situations, so she sometimes did try to at least demand what she wanted of him. Obedience was not guaranteed, but there was a chance of it.

“ _I demand,”_ Dracula smiled widely _. “Really?_ You think you could demand whatever you want from me as if you’re a queen? You’ll have to kill me first.”

“Oh please. You even come on command,” she almost regretted it as soon as she spoke the words. but it was true.

Dracula chuckled darkly.

“Of course _you_ would know that. Now, I can’t help but wonder, did you feel it when I came for you?”

His grip tightened only barely as he loomed over her sitting figure. She didn’t say anything, feeling a bit stunned at the words he had just thrown at her. And she was not about to give him the satisfaction of discussing the subject.

“I don’t expect you to answer,” he continued. “Though I do think I have an idea. But I have another question. What _do_ you feel?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“What do you feel for me?”

The question took her by such a surprise that she almost laughed. She couldn’t decipher if he was trying to manipulate her into thinking or feeling something, or if he was indeed curious about how much influence he had over her.

“Are you serious?” she said wide-eyed. Agatha’s mouth twisted into a small smile for a moment, mostly from nerves and surprise at the question.

“Yes. Of course.”

She looked over his face, realizing he was indeed serious. He had told her once there was truth in their touch and she could not help but think maybe that was why he was standing over her with his hand around her throat. He was trying to find the truth.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to direct as much of her anger and negativity towards him as she could. And she had plenty.

“Pity, perhaps. You were interesting once, as a thing to study, but you have lost my interest. I don’t care enough to feel anything for a thing like yourself, and I doubt anyone could. Maybe that is why you attempt to inflict yourself on people. You are nothing without your own contagion.”

The words were harsh, perhaps one of the harshest she had ever spoken. But Agatha was, in fact, rather proud that she had said it. It seemed to have affected him, upset him even. Dracula frowned slightly and clenched his jaw, angry but still observant, trying to solve something.

“Right. You know…” he said softly, and a smile played his lips for a brief second. His eyes were dark and serious, lacking the usual playfulness they usually had. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone before. I think I hate you.”

He released her from his hold and turned from her, quickly heading towards the door.

“You will not leave this room until I let you,” he said, raising his voice. “I don’t care if I have to tie you down to this bed to keep you here. So do tread carefully.”

Without looking back at her he slammed the door and Agatha was left with no way out.


End file.
